Reversing Fate
by dreamysherry
Summary: Antoinetta escapes the purification process and heads to Fort Farragut in search of her Speaker. Lucien/Antoinetta. Final chapter Up!
1. Chapter 1

Reversing Fate

Antoinetta escapes the purification process and heads to Fort Farragut in search of her Speaker. Lucien/Antoinetta

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion and its characters.

* * *

Chapter One

It is not a long walk from Cheydinhal to Fort Farragut, but each step Antoinetta carries is heavy and slow. Her fine alchemy potions healed the physical wounds from her struggle with the newest addition to her Sanctuary, a young Dunmer girl whose rapid promotion in the ranks clearly showed the depth of dark talent she possessed. Antoinetta's scar isn't visible, but it has managed to kill something of the blonde assassin. She will never laugh aloud again. Her smile will always be somewhat tainted. She knows that she has escaped death, but not for long. When she found the letter signed by Lucien Lachance from the limp body of her attacker, all hope vanished. The girl was rumoured to have received a special contract by the Black Hand itself, and the letter confirmed it to be true. No one whose death was ordered by the ruling council of the assassin guild can survive for very long. She only wants to learn the truth, the answer she desperately seeks from the one who is most likely to have instructed the Dunmer girl to slain everyone in the Sanctuary.

Antoinetta doesn't even know how she managed to emerge as a winner when all her Brothers and Sisters were beaten without even putting up much of fight. The only thing that helped her was her dislike for the new girl. A petty jealousy, but it saved her skin, albeit temporarily, because it made her watchful of every movement that the golden child of Sithis made. She never let her guard down around the Dunmer Eliminator. The other girl, of course, made the fatal mistake of underestimating Antoinetta, who was never renowned for either her magical ability or her blade skills. She was good, but not even the second best among the group of talented assassins. She had, however, one skill that could outsmart everyone. It was the skill that had Lucien pay her enough attention to recruit her into the Brotherhood. She could produce a poison of such a quality that only her Speaker could match. As soon as her dagger made a slight cut into her opponent's armour, the outcome was set in stone.

The winter wind blows harsh, slowing her steps even further. Tightening her blue cloak around her, she fights the cold, numb feelings inside her with grim determination. She wonders whether Lucien already knows his favourite assassin's failure, whether he is anticipating her arrival. The Black Hand indeed seems to know a great many things except the one thing they desperately need to know. Because she suspects that they would have not sanctioned a blatant violation of the Tenets, had they known who exactly was the assassin among the assassins.

* * *

Following a cloaked figure silently, Lucien ponders why he has let Antoinetta live so long; why he hasn't struck her dead yet. True, he had felt something special towards her. She was the only assassin he had recruited without the guidance of the Night Mother. He had good feelings about her when he found her in the sewer, running from the Imperial guards after slaying a few of them. He didn't watch the murder scenes, but the guards were furiously searching the nearby area and she fitted the description of the suspect perfectly.

Apparently she had been imprisoned for murdering her aunt by poison at the tender age of fifteen. That particular method initially pricked his interest, which only deepened when it was revealed that she had tried to gain her freedom by seducing an Imperial guard as soon as she reached seventeen. Many had stayed away but one unfortunate guard had succumbed to her seductive charm and pretty looks. He gave her pretty clothes, brought a comfortable bed inside her cell, and even gave her blade lessons. Years later, when it became obvious to her that he didn't have the kind of money to buy her freedom and had nothing else useful to offer, Antoinetta decided that she had had enough of life in prison. She strangled her lover with a pillow during his sleep, took his keys and sword, and ran. Lucien was sure that the Night Mother had guided her. It was no mean feat to escape from a prison even with the cell and office keys in possession.

The girl didn't even flinch when Lucien revealed himself and the business of the Brotherhood to her. The big happy smile on her face told him that she would be grateful and devoted. He had been following her progress closely till the campaign started, which threatened everything that he had worked for. Deep down, Lucien knows that she is innocent. Nevertheless, an order, even a stupid one, is an order. He has sworn his loyalty to Sithis and the Black Hand, who will not take kindly to his refusal to see it through. It is only a matter of time before he has to complete what his Silencer failed to. Antoinetta, despite all her promise, will have to die at his hand. He suspects his death may be worse, much worse.

* * *

Exhaling deeply, Antoinetta glances up to give one last look at the sky. The vibrant colour of red is spreading through the open canvas. It will be a cold, cloudless night with sparkling stars and bright moons. She can almost hear her own requiem and wonders what their Dread Father will make of the tragic loss that took place not long ago. He has spoken to her before, whispering the sweet song of death, the necessary and inevitable part of life. At that moment, she understood that the Void was not the antithesis of the Gods and Daedric Princes; they make up the whole picture and are interdependent.

After gathering her courage that starts to falter, Antoinetta opens the heavy Fort gate. She suspects there will be traps, but she has a plan. Knowing Lucien, there will be dark guardians all over the place. She may not be an expert mage, but she has learned all the magic that she needs to survive in the most inhospitable places. Casting the strongest chameleon spell she knows, she carefully navigates her way, sticking close to the wall, till she comes across the first skeleton. When it finally notices her, the undead creature is already under her command. It leads her through the safest passage, warning her about the nature of traps ahead and the presence of other guardians. Lucien is impressed when she arrives at his chamber without a scratch. He always knew she had potential. She just needed more time, but his former short-lived Silencer impressed the Hand far more.

Antoinetta's night-eye spell wore off shortly before she enters the room where she expects to meet her death. She does not renew the spell, opting for examining the unexpectedly large place with open eyes. The first thing that stands out is the silhouette of a black hand staring at her, lit between two flames. Lucien has always been proud of being a part of the Hand and apparently is not afraid of making a statement. The place seems rather bare for one that belongs to such a prominent Speaker, but then perhaps an open space appeals to him just as it pleases her. Her eyes move to the left side and find a plain wooden bed and furniture that look peculiar in the ancient setting. At the opposite, stand a small table, rather uncomfortable looking stool, a wooden chair, an open stone coffin and most importantly her Speaker. A lone candle is the only source of light at that end, and it is hard to make out the look on his face from where she stands. Antoinetta takes several steps towards him.

"Welcome to my private sanctum, dear child," Lucien says with a warm smile. There is of course no beaming smile he used to see whenever she had his audience. He is, however, astonished not to sense any bitterness or anger. Instead, he only finds sad longing in the sweet face that looks up to him. She looks suddenly mature, with wisdom of an old lady who has lived too long and has seen too much. He realises he has killed the old Antoinetta once and for all.

Antoinetta stares into the face of a man whom she once believed could right all the wrongs, trying to memorise his every feature. He is only human, not as powerful as she thought he was. Despite the composure, the strain of recent troubles shows in his face. Time stands still, as they merely stand and look at each other, searching and wondering about the torrents of thoughts and emotions beneath the calm surfaces.

"You are not angry with me," she states, half surprised and half relieved. "Why?"

"Why should I be? You fought well," he replies, his tone quiet and soft. "Come and drink with me."

Lucien seats himself on the stool and gestures her to the chair. There are two bottles of red wine in the table but only one goblet, Lucien's way of telling her that neither the wine nor the vessel is poisoned. He takes a drink first and offers the half filled glass to her, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on the back of his hand, eyes focused on the red liquid in the bottle. She deserves an answer; she has beaten the favoured child of the Night Mother.

"It has been a while since I had the pleasure of your company," he begins. "I wish you were here under different circumstances. Ask of me whatever is on your mind. The night is long."

"You have ordered my sacrifice, dear Speaker, and I understand that I will not leave your home alive," she murmurs, not a question but a statement. "I only ask you to allow me to choose the exact time of my death. It will be before dawn."

"That's it? You will not even attempt to fight me? You are not even going to try to save your life after defeating Leonia?"

"Would there be any point in me trying? Would it make any difference to the outcome, except that I will die by someone else's hand? Why do you think I came here voluntarily?"

Lucien knows the answer all too well. The Black Hand may be useless in pinpointing the identity of the traitor, but no one can escape death once the ruling council desires it. Nevertheless, he does not wish to see the defeated look on her face. Perhaps, her temporary triumph against what seemed to be the inevitable Fate has given him some hope, though he does not exactly believe in it. Lucien fills the now empty glass and swallows more of the liquid to soothe the dryness building up in his throat. He hates the feeling of helplessness and is determined to rise above it, to face his own burden alone and to the bitter end. He is, however, willing to allow himself a weakness for one single night next to someone whose fighting spirit has been finally broken. The Black Hand duty can wait till the morning.

"You already suspect that I have instructed Leonia to carry out the purification of my own Sanctuary. You infer that the Black Hand was behind my seemingly suicidal order. You are right on both accounts," says Lucien, his tone rather weary and tired, though gentle. "It was our failure to pin down the conspirator who targeted the Cheydinhal Sanctuary that was responsible for such a drastic action. Is this what you wanted to know?"

"Yes," Antoinetta replies, emptying the glass once again. She will not drink any more. She wants to face her last night in a sober state of mind. "And more, much more. When I'm gone and the purification complete, will the Brotherhood finally be free of the traitor?"

He holds her chin lightly with his gloved hand. Even now, she does not shy away from the touch. Instead, she leans on to it, clinging to the last human contact. He is tempted to turn his gaze away, but he will not.

"I wish I could give you a different answer, but it will not be the truth. The answer is we do not know. The Black Hand hopes it should be the case, but the decision was motivated by strong probability, not by solid evidence. If we were wrong, we would have to pay dearly for our mistake. We would have helped the traitor to complete a part of his plan."

The expression on her face, the look of resigned sorrow, does not change at the revelation. This time, however, she manages a faint smile before she murmurs musingly. "My death, however, is necessary for you to carry out your duty as a Speaker. Then, there is a meaning to it."

Lucien has not warmed to the human tendency to conjure up a meaning where there is none. But on this occasion, he will not contradict her. How else can she accept her fate without resentment? Carefully releasing her face from his grip, Lucien pours himself another glass. With any luck, he could get drunk and fall into a blissful sleep before the dawn, before she tells him that she is ready for her sacrifice. If the Night Mother wishes to involve her in some mysterious scheme, she will be the second target Lucien has ever missed. His first failure didn't turn out so bad after all, though he swore never to let it happen again, and with Antoinetta's luck, the second one may turn out quite well.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. Apologies to all Lucien fans (that includes myself) for playing a little practical joke on my favourite NPC in Oblivion. I just couldn't resist, especially after Ijinzu's suggestion. XD Hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Chapter Two

The fire is out, and the morning air is cold. Instinctively, Lucien's sleeping form leans closer to the source of warmth. A smile forms at the corner of the lips as his dream reflects the workings of the pleasant contrast in reality. The smile soon turns into a grimace, and his eyes flick open as he recognises the face of the girl in his dream. _Thank Sithis it was only a dream_. He mutters, waking into the foul after-effects of his unrestrained drinking. The familiar sight, the dark high ceilings and the large empty space, together with the throbbing aches in his head and throat, confirms that he is truly awake. Something is, however, wrong, very wrong. He is not alone. To make matters worse, not a thread of clothing covers his body under the wool blanket.

Lucien curses under his breath as the memory of the previous night floods back into the stream of his unaccommodating consciousness. He remembers his ridiculous desire to give Antoinetta an opportunity to make a run for her life. He recollects talking to her for a long time, most of it irrelevant to the Brotherhood business. They conversed like two strangers in desperate need for companionship, speaking of life, death, hope, fear, reality, and the like in abstract terms. Unfortunately, Lucien found himself rather resilient to the effects of alcohol and had to rely on his reserve of ales when the wine ran out. He didn't mind her not drinking because he wanted her to be sober so that she could make a successful escape. What happened after three bottles of wine and two bottles of ale, he cannot recall, but on retrospect it was definitely a mistake that she remained clear-headed while he became intoxicated by the amount of alcohol he was never used to.

_Stupid girl_. Naturally, Lucien blames Antoinetta for the embarrassing situation he finds himself in. Instead of saving her own life, she took advantage of his drunken state to satisfy her unholy and rather insane desire. There were two principles Lucien had rigidly upheld when it came to physical intimacy. _Never sleep with your dark Sister_ was the first one. Familiarity and respect tend not to mix well. _Never sleep with your target_ was the second. It is a bad idea to risk getting emotionally attached to the prey. In one single night, Antoinetta managed to make him break both principles. Worst of it all, he remains ignorant of what she feels like beneath his weight. It is hardly surprising that he feels cheated and rather annoyed with the whole affair.

_What a mess_. He neatly sums up his plight before bursting into a bittersweet laugh. Does it really matter? He has been in a mess for a long time. It is hardly a catastrophe that he finds himself naked in his bed with Antoinetta. In his right mind, he would have never taken her to his bed. Nevertheless, what happened between them is no disaster compared with the turmoil that the Black Hand will be going through if the traitor still looms large. Not really. Not even close. As for losing Antoinetta's respect, he does not expect it from her anyway, not after… ordering her death and admitting the Black Hand's inability to identify the faceless enemy within. The Hand failed in their duty, and it was his family in his Sanctuary that had to pay for the incapability. After all, the Hand cannot desire its own purification.

Having dressed himself to regain his decency, Lucien turns his attention to the sleeping figure. It will be so easy to take her life while she is blissfully unaware of what awaits her. She did, however, ask him to allow her to choose the exact time of her death, and he consented to respecting her wishes. So, he opts to sit at the edge of the bed, studying her face and watching her breathing peacefully. He has waited so far, and a few more hours will not hurt. The Black Hand can wait, too. The inevitable will come.

_Is it inevitable, though? Is her death unavoidable?_ He ponders, reluctant to let go of the hope he so bravely entertained during the night. The Hand will not be persuaded by his gut feelings. He needs more; he needs concrete proof that she is innocent of the treachery. Antoinetta stirs a little, revealing her bare shoulder to his view. The little motion clearly reminds him of what he wishes to forget. She has slept with him and seen him in his most vulnerable state while she was fully conscious. _While she could have me killed without much difficulty._ Lucien smiles sweetly. He has the proof. His reputation might suffer, but she has provided him with undisputable evidence for her innocence.

* * *

"Rise, child. You have rested long enough, and we have much work to do."

The quiet and deep voice alone might not have done the trick, but, when aided by the ruthless assault of cold air that hits the upper part of her bare form, it causes Antoinetta's sleepy eyes to quickly open. Even so, Antoinetta is a sound sleeper, and it takes a good several minutes before she realises exactly where she is and why. A low, rumbling sound from her stomach prompts her into an action. Her eyes furiously search for the armour and cloak she discarded somewhere on the cold stone floor on the previous night.

"They are next to your pillow," says Lucien casually, looking down at the face that starts to turn crimson.

Antoinetta grabs the neatly folded garments and looks at him with pleading eyes. Having satisfied himself with exacting a piece of his own revenge, Lucien turns his back away from her and hears her quickly dress. It amuses him to see the bold temptress during the night become so shy in the morning.

Lucien tells her to join him for a simple breakfast, and she complies without protest. She will have one less regret when she meets their Dread Father. Dining with her Speaker was one of the things she always wanted to do. Though she can sense that something has changed inside her Speaker, she doesn't want to let false hope deceive her. Nevertheless, she cannot help but observe that the look of weary resignation has vanished from his appearance.

"Why did you not run?" Lucien asks, watching her take a greedy bite out of a slightly stale bread loaf. He feels famished, but has no appetite for food.

"Did you want me to live?" Antoinetta responds with a question, knowing the answer perfectly well. She is no fool. It was obvious to her why her Speaker let himself get drunk, knowing his target remained sober. Still, she wants to hear his motive from his own lips.

No reply comes back, except a discerning gaze that clearly says 'you know the answer'.

"I have already told you the reason for my visit here, and you said nothing that could change my self-destructive decision," she explains. "Getting you into trouble is all I would have achieved by fleeing from your initial intention with me. I just wanted to feel alive for the night."

"You could simply have me killed, making it more difficult for the Hand to locate your whereabouts. Everyone who knew what you looked like was dead, except me."

"It would have only been a matter of time," she says, with a soft sigh.

Lucien regards her silently, letting her get on with her meal. She needs to be well fed before the journey he planned for both of them. More importantly, however, he needs to reinstall optimism back into her weakened frame of mind. She will not be of much help to him, if she has no faith in alternative outcomes.

Having slowly finished her meal, Antoinetta readies herself for what she is sure to come. She turns towards him and takes in every feature of the man in front of her with insufferable longing. She is glad that the glow in the deep brown eyes is warm. Raising her hand to feel his tempting lips at her fingertips, she murmurs. "I'm ready."

After giving a light nod, Lucien unsheathes his sword and orders her to close her eyes. He is now certain about the solution to her pessimism. He knows what will restore her fighting spirit. Antoinetta waits for the blow that never comes. Instead, she feels the sensation of cold lips on her forehead, and a gentle whisper. "You still have something to strive for. My walls are not as impenetrable as they look. My trust and love is yours to earn."

Antoinetta opens her eyes and finds Lucien smiling down at her.

"Dear child," he says, smoothly sliding his blade back into the metal scabbard. "I need you to live. I have a plan that requires your co-operation."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"You have a plan for me, Speaker?"

Antoinetta blinks her eyes several times, just to make sure that she is not dreaming. Not only has she escaped certain death, but also her Speaker needs her help? Most importantly, she has been given an opportunity to prove herself worthy of his affection? It takes her a good deal of self-discipline not to reach out and touch the man who looks as self-assured and commanding as he used to. She will just have to trust her eyes and ears.

Lucien's smile deepens as he watches her expressions become slowly filled with what he wanted to see, hope and hunger for recognition. He does not make a habit of sharing classified information with his subordinates; he believes they need to know only what is necessary to complete a contract. This time, however, he believes it is to his advantage for her to learn the exact purpose of his scheme; it will help her better understand her role and his expectations.

"If the traitor still lives, he will be waiting for the completion of purification before his next move. Though he has never attempted to take my life so far, I believe it only a matter of time. If he were clever, he would target the other members of the Hand first, leaving the task of dealing with me to the Hand members who survive his sporadic attacks. The presumed link between my Sanctuary and the treachery will not be easily forgotten, making me the prime suspect. Even if they decide not to eradicate my existence without concrete evidence, each and every move of mine will be scrutinised and discussed, should things deteriorate further."

Antoinetta listens attentively without disrupting him, reassured by the confidence in his tone and manner. He must have a plan to prevent such an eventuality, and she will make sure it will work. The unwavering trust in her eyes is exactly what Lucien needed to regain. Now that he has it, all that his scheme requires is Ungolim's approval. As for the rest of the Hand, they must be kept in the dark as long as necessary.

"I will not become a sitting target, however. I will not wait to see how the events will turn out, whether the conspirator has indeed ceased to breathe during the purification process. If the Hand's response against the threat proves to be wrong, I must conclude that he has infiltrated into the very core of ..."

Lucien abruptly ends his talk as his trained ears pick up the sound of hurried footsteps approaching a hollowed tree, where a trap door to his private sanctum is hidden. Antoinetta too picks up the faint sound that only the most perceptive can make out in the middle of a discourse. A series of loud knocks on the metal trap door soon follows. By now, the Imperial Speaker has a pretty good idea about the identity of the unexpected visitor, the alarm in his eyes turning into relief with a hint of annoyance. Lucien calmly casts an invisibility spell over Antoinetta's worried form and whispers to her to remain silent before disappearing from her view. Antoinetta nervously watches Lucien reappear, closely followed by a rather exhausted-looking Argonian. Though she wants to stay put where she can view their interaction, she does not know how long the spell is going to last. Noiselessly, she moves herself away from them and hides behind a large stone pillar. It gives her some comfort that she should still be able to hear their communication.

Lucien takes a sealed parchment from Ungolim's messenger and reads the contents with a deep frown. He cannot understand why the Night Mother suddenly chose to speak about the purification of his Sanctuary after a long silence. She was perfectly content to watch her children suffer the consequences of their ignorance. It couldn't have been motivated by her desire to see her children unharmed. If that had been the case, she would have warned the Black Hand against their mistake earlier, before his Silencer wielded her deathly blade against her family. Something has changed, something important. He sends the Argonian messenger away, telling him that Ungolim should shortly expect a visit from one of his Speakers.

"You can come out now," Lucien says a short while after the trap door is securely shut, his features relaxing once again. "It seems that the Night Mother truly smiles upon you."

* * *

Sitting alone in a dark corner of his depressingly typical Bravil house, Ungolim takes a swig of what he regards as men and mer's poison. The placid, though charismatic, Listener rarely finds comfort in alcohol, especially during the daytime, but his last communication with the Night Mother was dismal enough to cause him to purchase a bottle of mead after a restless, sleep-deprived night. There were times when he enjoyed his prestigious position in the assassin guild and looked forward to hearing the sweet whispers of their Unholy Matron.

The quiet Bosmer has been a loyal child of Sithis and was once revered by all his Speakers. The Night Mother granted him her infinite and reassuringly dark insight, rendering him and his Black Hand powerful. That was why he was content to live a modest life in the rundown town of Bravil, to remain close to her wisdom. Unfortunately, Ungolim is now experiencing just how cold her love can be. She seems to have decided to withdraw her guidance when it was needed most and to show her disapproval only when it was too late.

He was rather surprised when she flatly refused his request to help the Hand to identify the traitor who somehow managed to infiltrate the Brotherhood. She told him in no uncertain manner that she would not reward incompetence, leaving him and his council no option but to take drastic measures; the purification of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. After that, she chose to deprive him of her audience for a whole week. Not a single word could be coaxed out of her during this period.

Last night, she finally broke her sullen silence, but the words that he had waited for so long did nothing but comfort him. The tone that accompanied the contents was equally unnerving; it was contemptuous and severe. _There was no traitor within the walls of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary when you and your inept council ordered the annihilation of its residents _was all that she revealed. It seemed to him that she now spoke only to condemn her children's foolishness. She still would not help them to find the desirable path.

Although he dispatched his personal courier to Fort Farragut immediately after his communication with the Night Mother, he had little hope that there would be survivors. He has never felt so inadequate in all his years of reign as the head of the awe-inspiring assassin guild. How is he going to relate her scornful revelation to the rest of the Hand, without losing their respect completely and deepening the mistrust and suspicion of each other that has already begun to take root?

Another swig of the bottle, and Ungolim's mood is beginning to improve. He so rarely drinks that the effect of alcohol doesn't take long to set in. _Cold love is love nonetheless_. He recites musingly, leaving aside his worries for the uncertain future of the Brotherhood for once. Suddenly, it hits him that the seemingly belated disclosure from their spiritual leader is not just that. He would have seen it easily months ago. He has been too troubled and apprehensive to think clearly these days. Ungolim takes the bottle to the sink and pours away all the contents. He will not require it any longer. What he needs is a long chat with Lucien Lachance over the past residents of the ill-fated Sanctuary.

* * *

A beautiful glade opens up before them as Antoinetta steps out into the clean air. Waving long grass moves in the wind, and outcrops of igneous rock pierce the surface. The view of the clear sky and the distant mountains holds the promise of freedom and positive things to come. Unlike the previous day, Antoinetta's steps are sure and purposeful, and her eyes burn with almost irrepressible excitement. If her Speaker weren't leading the way, she would have marvelled at the beauty of her surroundings, all things that she didn't expect to catch sight of ever again. She would have smiled at the song of the peewee filling the valley with seductive wobbling, calling for its mate. As it happens, her gaze rarely leaves the figure ahead of her, his plan and expectations occupying all thoughts. Well, most of her thoughts. There is still room for feeling giddy about the prospect of travelling together.

"We will have to stop at the Imperial City to get you new garments," Lucien states, helping her mount Shadowmere first. He does not want her to go back to the Sanctuary to retrieve her possessions. Nevertheless, he needs to free her from her shrouded amour at the earliest opportunity. "And you will have to change the colour of your hair once again, as a precautionary measure. Perhaps even make it shorter."

"Which hair colour would you recommend to me, Speaker?" asks Antoinetta, smiling at the slight contact Lucien's gloved hand makes with her flowing hair.

The first order Lucien gave her after she was admitted into the Sanctuary was to dye her hair, the original colouring of which had been dark red. Blonde was much less noticeable for a Breton girl, and it made easier her missions in the Imperial City. Lucien remembers well what she looked like when they first met. Despite her otherwise wretched appearance, there was still fire in her eyes, perfectly matching the colour of her hair. The sight left a strong impression on him, and he would like to see her shine in her natural glory once again. It is not the right time, however. Not yet.

"Light brown," he replies. "The Shadow prefers it that way."


	4. Chapter 4

A.N. Thank you guys for the lovely reviews. ^_^ I wasn't sure how you were going to react to the idea of Lucien/Antoinetta pairing, and I'm happy that you have been supportive so far.

Hi, antihero. (I'm assuming antihero and antihero276 are one and the same person. If I'm wrong, please correct me.) It's good to hear from you. I can't write as fast as some of the writers on this site, but I will try to update once a week. Hope you will keep enjoying the story.

* * *

Chapter Four

Antoinetta steps into a long narrow chamber, closely followed by Lucien who materialises behind her only after the door is shut. He gives a quick glance at the room and, unlike Antoinetta, nods his satisfaction. He doesn't care much for the age-worn oak furniture or the framed pictures hung on the rather grim-looking mud walls, a feeble attempt to brighten up the dreary aspect. The beds are located at the opposite ends, and both are single. The only thing that annoys him is the presence of two small lattice windows above the beds. Lucien prefers to sleep in a dark room, and he figures it may be early in the morning by the time he returns to the place.

"I must go and speak with the Listener," he whispers into her ear, which will be the only way of communication between them for a while. They will not be seen or heard together in public. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tries to make his voice sound rather bland and neutral, their way of communication seems to make Antoinetta shiver with inappropriate longing. Though her response does amuse him, it also has the undesirable side effect of making him indulge the forbidden thoughts and images of ravaging her mercilessly.

"Get some food at the bar for yourself and purchase enough provisions to last a few days. After that, try to get some sleep. I will be gone for a while."

Before Antoinetta has a chance to turn to face him, Lucien presses a soft kiss on her temple and quickly leaves the room. He is apprehensive of leaving her alone so soon after the event of purification. Without her attention solely focused on him and his expectations of her, the relief she feels at the turn of events may not be enough to prevent her from remembering and grieving the loss of her family. He only hopes the grief will turn into anger rather than despondency, and anger against the scheming traitor who managed to bring down his Sanctuary rather than against the Black Hand whose flawed judgement played a vital role in the demise of her Brothers and Sisters.

* * *

Having busied herself at the bar as Lucien instructed, Antoinetta returns to the bedroom upstairs and takes out a hand mirror from her bag to have a good look at her new hair style and the new garments she has put on. The girl who looks back at her, though still pretty despite the rather plain hair colour, seems somewhat unfamiliar and needs getting used to. The short haircut seems to emphasize her round face line, making her look even younger than she is. Telaendril will tease her about that. _Telaedril _… the only mer who ever escaped Lucien's merciless blade … who loved playing the big Sister and always offered advice and support on her contracts … lying face down on the stone floor … dead …

Antoinetta grits her teeth to fight the hollow dizziness rapidly filling her head. She felt too sorry for herself to mourn the others' death properly before she arrived at Fort Farragut . Only now, in Lucien's absence, free from the magical effect he has on her, the realization that she is the only survivor finally sinks in.

_I am so sorry_. She murmurs, with a lump in her throat and her vision blurry with tears. She does not know what she is exactly sorry for. It was almost a miracle that she bettered Leonia. She could not have saved others when they could not have saved themselves; they were more skilled than her. Perhaps, it was the knowledge that she would have never gained an opportunity to carry out a special mission for her Speaker, had the tragedy never happened. Antoinetta shakes her head hard. She is a survivor, and Lucien needs her help. She cannot let herself drown by a sense of guilt that will not bring back the dead into the realm of the living. _Please remember I wasn't supposed to live, either_. _I promise I will not allow your sacrifice to be in vain_.

* * *

Ungolim restlessly paces the vacant part of his dining room, the frown etched on his face deepening by the minute. The smell of wood smoke indicates that he has been home sometime. In fact, it is well past midnight and his messenger already came to see him a couple of hours ago. _Where is Lachance?_ What business keeps him in Cheydinhal so long that there is still no sign of him? His horse is supposed to be the fastest in all Cyrodiil. He chose not to send a written communication, which probably means there is something urgent he wants to discuss in person. So, why the delay?

Another hour of erratic nerves, and the Listener finally hears what he was waiting to hear. By the time he answers the door, he is a picture of calm and composure. He cannot let his subordinate sense his anxiety.

"As you must be aware, your order to stop the purification process came much too late … for all but one resident in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary," Lucien begins, once they are seated at the round table in front of an open fire.

"There is a survivor?"

"Antoinetta Mary came to Fort Farragut to offer her life as a loyal daughter of Sithis after defeating Leonia. Your latest order saved her life," Lucien answers, sipping a glass of water Ungolim kindly offered. Not exactly the whole truth, but the Hand does not need to know why exactly she still lives. "I believe the Night Mother's revelation was something to do with her survival. Our Unholy Matron will not impart her wisdom without a purpose."

Ungolim turns his gaze to the flames, his mind busy digesting the news Lachance brought with him, reflecting and calculating. The Imperial's interpretation seems to make sense. Lachance has been always more in tune with their Lady than his other Speakers.

"Where is she now?"

"She is resting in _Silverhome on the Water_. I wish to involve her in a plan to uncover the plot of the traitor and came here to seek your permission."

Ungolim has his own plans, but decides to hear out Lucien first. He was made a Listener for a reason, and it isn't just the Night Mother he is willing to lend an ear to. He gives a light nod, prompting Lucien to continue.

"I believe our mistake lay in our failure to see things from the traitor's perspective, a clever one for that matter. If we ourselves infiltrated our enemy, we would not strike immediately. We will not stage a series of assaults till we become more valuable to and trusted by our adversary. We will not, however, waste years after that. This considerably narrows down the number of suspects. In fact, there are only two who have been accepted into the Hand within the past two years. Both came from the Cheydinhal Sanctuary."

Ungolim smiles his approval. He likes what he is hearing. They have somehow managed to draw the same conclusion, and it seems that Lucien is about to volunteer himself for the necessary legwork.

"You would agree it best not to alarm the conspirator while we gather evidence. Now, Antoinetta's unexpected survival can explain my absence from the Hand duties. I am asking you to inform the rest of the Hand that you have ordered me to locate and bring back the lone survivor to the Brotherhood. Antoinetta will conduct the investigation under my watchful guidance."

"You have my permission and co-operation," Ungolim concludes, much to Lucien's relief. "Now, tell me more about Matthew Bellamont and Shaleez. We must decide which one makes a better suspect."

* * *

A light drizzle awaits Lucien as he steps out of Ungolim's residence. The sunless cold day is a welcome relief to his tired eyes. Going through a huge pile of papers with Ungolim wasn't much fun, but at least it showed Shaleez could not have been physically near Blanchard when the former Silencer of Lucien was murdered. That didn't of course exclude the possibility that Shaleez might have passed the information of Blanchard's whereabouts to whoever carried out the killing. Nevertheless, coupled with the fact that Lucien had found it almost impossible to read Bellamont's thoughts and emotions during his residence in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, Ungolim and Lucien managed to reach an agreement that Bellamont should be regarded as the prime suspect. A single suspicious movement from him, and Lucien will be free to slay him without first obtaining the approval of the Hand.

The only remaining question was how to locate Bellamont. The Listener contacted his Speakers using his private messenger and Dark Brotherhood couriers. It was then the Speaker's responsibility to communicate with their Silencers. This didn't guarantee that Banus was aware of where Bellamont resided. Since they adopted the Dead Drop Order system as an extra precautionary measure, Speakers were in no need of sending messages direct to their Silencers' hideouts. Still, if they could find out where Bellamont would pick up his next Dead Drop order, it would help the investigation considerably. Therefore, it was agreed that Ungolim would send for Banus, who would travel to Bravil without anyone else's knowledge, especially that of his Silencer. If all goes well, Banus should arrive within three days. That left Lucien and Antoinetta at least two whole days and nights for doing … nothing.

_That should be an interesting experience._ Lucien thinks with a wicked smile. He cannot recall when he last spent so much time in someone else's company, but he has a plan to put the experience to good use. It will provide him with ample opportunity to test her skills, with time for his own amusement, too. He intends to find out what Antoinetta is like when drunk. Only, he will be the one who has the pleasure of being in full control, this time.


	5. Chapter 5

A.N. You finally get to see what really happened between Lucien and Antoinetta in this chapter. :D Thank you guys as always for the kind reviews. ^_^ Your inputs are much appreciated.

Hello again, antihero. :) This chapter and the next will progress rather slowly, the overall plot-wise. I thought Lucien and Antoinetta would need their time together. Hope you agree and thank you for your support. ^_^

* * *

Chapter Five

It is nearly the noon when Antoinetta's sleeping form finally stirs from its curled up position. She stretches long, and kicks the blanket off her with one pleasant yawn. The dark red nightdress Lucien bought her is surprisingly warm, and the only pretty thing she is allowed to wear. Her new cloak is dark brown with no decorative stitches and her chainmail armour is something that would be worn by unimaginative boys; it is not half as sensual as her shrouded armour. The metallic grey colour is depressing to her eyes and the lattice front panelled cuirass hides well her voluminous figure. She saw a much better version in the armour market they visited, a proper chainmail armour designed for female warriors with aesthetic taste. She is tempted not to change for the day ahead, but reluctantly slips out of the comforting dress and puts on her gloomy attire. Attaching her silver short sword to the brown leather strapping, Antoinetta sighs lightly. How is she going to appear attractive to Lucien when he deliberately puts her into the most dismal clothing?

After carefully hiding her glass dagger in her boot, she looks about the room in search for any sign of Lucien. There is a bright smile on her oval face as her eyes come across long raven hair spilling around a white pillow and the brown blanket at the opposite end of the room. As she moves closer to that end, she notices a chair next to the bed and a folded piece of paper on it. _He knew I was going to watch him sleep_, thinks Antoinetta, _and he had to let me apprehend that he knew_. Antoinetta seats herself, placing the note on her lap and cautiously running her free palm over the silken texture of Lucien's hair. She wants to have a moment to herself before reading his instruction, a moment in which she is free to recollect their moments of passion. She cannot be sure how much of it Lucien remembers. Her body, however, still bears witness to what happened between them, and she hopes that the bruises and bite marks on her delicate skin will last longer than they normally do. Staring at them and caressing them with her hands give her a warm, fuzzy sensation that she loves.

* * *

Despite the image of Antoinetta as a wild temptress in Lucien's imagination, it all started so innocently. The night had a dreamy feel to it, a perfect way of spending her final hours. Intoxicated Lucien was much more open, though his pose remained elegant. She was happy, as happy as she could be, under the circumstances. When Lucien causally addressed her as _child_, she was thinking about asking him to end her life. There was just one thing; she didn't want him to see her as a mere child. It was going to be her last night, and she wanted him to remember her more than just as his subordinate and the immature little murderess that he had rescued from the sewer only to die by his hand. The belief in her immanent death gave her the courage that she had lacked around her Speaker. Even then, she merely requested to be kissed on the lips, which Lucien, in his less constrained mind, probably couldn't see much harm in it.

They were both wrong if they thought one innocent kiss would not lead to anything else. It unleashed the power of all the secret, pent-up desires inside them. The sweet taste of moist lips combined with the tingling sensation of hot breath was more intoxicating than the effects of alcohol, mainly because they were forbidden. As Lucien's gloved hands greedily ran along the length of her back while his lips planted a not-so-innocent trail of kisses on her neck and ear lobe, Antoinetta realised that she could hope for what she once thought impossible.

"Take me," she whispered then, taking Lucien by surprise.

"I believe it a bad idea," was his hoarse reply, his last feeble attempt to resist the forbidden pleasure.

Placing her finger gently over his lips, she pulled herself away from him and proceeded to undress herself. Lucien no longer objected when she whispered her wishes once again.

* * *

Lucien's instructions were simple enough to follow. By the time the Imperial woke from his deep slumber, Antoinetta managed to complete all the tasks given to her. She extended the booking of the room for three more nights and purchased all the items in the list he provided, which included healing potions, extra blankets, several flasks of water as well as six bottles of Surilie Brothers wine. She even managed to practice the invisibility spell she was still learning to be competent while working on her stealth exercise for at least two hours till her magicka practically ran out. That was some vigorous training, considering she was gifted with unusually high-level magicka even for a Breton.

"Do you wish me to vacate the room for a short while, Speaker?" Antoinetta whispers, trying to tear her eyes away from the bare chest and long legs that Lucien's gown fails to cover. It is only late afternoon, but that does not stop her indulging in inappropriate images. The Black Hand robe does not do justice to his beautifully toned body.

Lucien looks somewhat confused for a moment before he finally comprehends the meaning behind her question. He cannot go outside in his nightgown even under the cover of invisibility. For one thing, he would be more susceptible to the chilly temperature, though the Bravil winter is never too harsh.

"You can watch me change if you are so inclined to do so. In fact, I insist," whispers back Lucien before disappearing from view.

Antoinetta's detect life spell reveals that he is still only a few feet away. All she can see for a while, however, is a bright purple glow. When Antoinetta finally makes out his figure once again, Lucien is already fully dressed.

"How?" she mutters, somehow managing to keep her voice low despite her amazement.

"Casting a quick succession of several different chameleon spells can create the effect of invisibility without the fatal flaw inherent in the invisibility spell," replies Lucien. "With a good stealth skill, it makes you invincible if you can add the Dispel Other spell to the series. However, the exercise is highly demanding on the magicka. No one can be indestructible for long."

Antoinetta nods her understanding and ponders whether her magicka will stretch enough to allow her to learn that level of magic. She wishes to ask him to teach her what he has just demonstrated, but is hesitant to do so. Surely, he has more important things to do in Bravil than training his subordinate?

"You will never know your limits unless you push yourself over and above the comfort zone." The Imperial Speaker adds with a knowing smile, "and that is exactly what we are going to find out this evening."

* * *

Following Lucien some distance behind has not been as enjoyable as Antoinetta thought, especially when she was ordered to cast a Dispel Other spell quickly followed by an invisibility spell each time he showed any sign of looking back. Periodically disappearing also gave cause for concern, as it rendered her detect life spell useless for a good several minutes. In addition to that, Lucien is a fast walker and has not once slowed down his pace to make things easier for her. After two solid hours of stealth exercise to Lucien's high standard, starting from the streets of Bravil and extending well into the wilderness, Antoinetta isn't sure how long she can keep up with him. Therefore, when she sees her Speaker stop outside what looks like an entrance to a cave, a sense of relief is written all across over her face. She doesn't care who or what reside in that place. Dealing with the occupants of the cave cannot be more difficult than what Lucien has put her through.

"Your progress is impressive," says Lucien with an approving smile, handing out a flask of water. "For the last hour or so, I haven't caught you once. Drink this. You will need it for the next challenge."

Water tastes sweet on her parched lips, but it is his words that wash away all her exertion and discomfort. She would let her body explode with pain if it would earn his approval.

"Are you ready?"

Of course, she is. She will be always ready for him.

"Would you like me to slain all the residents inside the cave, Speaker?"

"That would be too easy, dear child. Bandits do not present much of a challenge to skilful assassins. That uninspiring part of the job will fall into my hands. Yours is to penetrate deep into the cave undetected till you find a small chamber with a wooden door. Once you set your foot in that room without a single soul noticing your presence, your task will be deemed complete and you will get your reward. A word of advice. The cave is not huge, but the passages are interwoven in such a way that it is easy to run round in circles."

Antoinetta thinks through her strategies. She will have to watch out for traps as well as the presence of the bandits. She will need a good deal of patience and a high-level of concentration as well as a wise distribution of her magicka, half of which requires regeneration.

"Am I free to slain whoever is inside the chamber?" asks Antoinetta, preparing herself for the task ahead.

"I believe it will be the ringleader if you find anyone inside that chamber," replies Lucien thoughtfully. "The ringleaders tend to make worthy opponents. They occupy the position for a reason. Do you have any more poison with you?"

The despondent look on her eyes clearly says her answer. Lucien produces a file of potion, a silver necklace and a gold band adorned with an emerald coloured stone from a pocket inside his robe. Without a word, he takes hold of her hand and replaces the black band on her finger with the gold ring. Antoinetta looks at the ring in wonder; it is unusually pretty and she can feel the serge of magicka radiating into her skin. What truly thrills her is the fact that it is from Lucien. The sentimental value she attaches to her black band pales into insignificance in comparison. The only problem is that it is not meant to stay on her finger all the time, unless she wants to see Lucien's face blue-coloured and obscured by a purple glow. While she looks at her surroundings to explore how far the power of the ring reaches, Lucien slips the black band onto the silver necklace before handing it back to her, along with his deadly poison. He does not wish to deprive her of the protection the band offers. He simply needs her to wear it in a more discrete way.

"The ring will help you save your magicka, making more of it available for your illusion spells," Lucien states the obvious first. "It will also increase your confidence in the use of blades and illusion magic, somewhat compensating for the absence of the shrouded armour. Now, go in and make me proud."

Two and half hours later, Antoinetta manages to do just that. _Perhaps, I can send her into a necromancers' cave after dealing with the traitor,_ Lucien thinks to himself, looking down at the wide eyes of the dead ringleader, who simply had no opportunity to use his wide range of magic or his enchanted blade. There are always demands for necromancers' lives, and the profit margin tends to be extremely high. Maybe, the mage's guild can be persuaded to perform the Black Sacrament ritual?

"You are more or less ready to pursue the traitor," Lucien says with a heart-melting smile, looking down at the expectant face. "We can work on further improvement tomorrow. For now, you and I are going to celebrate our rather lucrative evening's work."


	6. Chapter 6

A.N. Hopefully you will like this chapter and a big thank you to all those who have been reading and reviewing. Your reviews turn a monologue into a dialogue, and I appreciate them a lot. Hope you all have a splendid Christmas and a fulfilling New Year.

Hi again antihero. ^_^ It's lovely to know that you are still enjoying the story. Sorry for the chapter length. I will make it longer next time.  
Hi Poppy. Good to hear from you. Hope I haven't disappointed you with this chapter. :)

* * *

Chapter Six

"With a few dark guardians, this place can serve as a nice hideout for your personal use," Lucien observes, leaning his elbow on the edge of a low table that separates them and watching Antoinetta greedily consume her well earned treat; fruits, cheese, bread and wine. The rocky ceilings are far too low for his preference, but Antoinetta isn't that tall after all. The chamber already has a bedroll, a cupboard, a set of drawers, two chairs, and a desk. There is even an open fire place. Antoinetta, however, doesn't seem at all happy about the suggestion, forcing Lucien to come up with a better option for her morale's sake, if for nothing else. _For an assassin, she does have an expressive face, _Lucien thinks with an amused gleam in his eyes_._ It helps her to be a good actress. Only, she doesn't seem to know how to act when he is around, making it no bother for him to read her. This quality of Antoinetta serves him well.

"Then again, we can always try to clear out another cave or mine near Fort Farragut ."

"I would like the second option better, Speaker," Antoinetta replies quickly, for fear of Lucien changing his mind once again. "If the residents are animals or monsters, I can use them to guard my lair."

The fact that she is competent in commanding creatures does please Lucien. Many assassins overlook the usefulness of such areas of magic, but it can be an invaluable aid in meeting the sophisticated parameters of more lucrative contracts.

"I thought Shadowmere took to you surprisingly well. Is that how you arrived at my private chamber unharmed?"

Antoinetta nods happily, her hands and mouth very much occupied. Lucien finally joins in the modest feast, thinking about what else she needs to and is able to learn in the short space of time they have. Judging from what he has seen so far, achieving a one hundred percent chameleon spell isn't going to happen to her anytime soon. She should, however, be able to make use of a paralyse spell. Though it could drain nearly all of her magicka, one rarely uses it without the intention of going for a kill.

"Do you wish to train me more, Speaker?" Antoinetta brings his attention back to the present, hesitating a little over whether she should fill another glass.

"Not tonight. I wish to enjoy your company instead," Lucien answers, smoothly pouring the red liquid to the brim of her goblet. "But first, let me give you a brief account of my discourse with the Listener. After that, we can drink to your advancement."

"Advancement?"

Lucien takes his time before answering her, savouring both the delicate taste of the wine and her rather bewildered look. Antoinetta is as good as being his Silencer since she takes orders directly from him and he has no one else to do his bidding. In fact, that's what Ungolim suggested regarding her place in the Brotherhood. Nevertheless, he believes that easy success breeds lack of motivation to better oneself. He didn't like the Hand's eagerness to promote Leonia into a high-ranking member of the assassin guild based on her achievements in a few selected, though much complicated, contracts. She became much too complacent because of the unprecedented favouritism of the Night Mother and the Hand. Antoinetta is his to mould and develop, and he will not ruin her future by pampering her. She will have to serve him long and hard before she earns the prestigious title of Silencer.

"You have reached the rank of Eliminator. Both the Listener and I believe you fully deserve the position."

Antoinetta smiles brightly. She didn't think slaying a ringleader would be enough to earn the title she so desperately wanted, but who is she to argue with her Speaker's judgement? She is one step closer to her goal and is happy.

* * *

Arquen is not a happy mer. Granted, it is easier for her and her Silencer to travel to Cheydinhal than Banus or even J'Ghasta. It does not, however, prevent her from feeling annoyed about the prospect of having to perform assignments that no self-respecting Speaker would give time to. She was destined for higher and greater things. Unfortunately, the Listener is not keen on anyone else other than the Hand members finding out what purification means. So naturally, he expects one of his Speakers to give respectable burials to the dead assassins whose sacrifices turned out to be rather meaningless.

_Ungolim must have lost his mind when he wrote his latest communication._ Arquen thinks without humour. Sending Lachance after some runaway seems irresponsible enough, when the Imperial should be kept under vigilant watch. She is effectively prevented from observing Lachance's moves thanks to her unenviable tasks, which bind both her and Shaleez to Cheydinhal for sometime to come. How is she going to find out what Lachance is up to when she has to fill the empty Sanctuary with fresh new murderers and murderesses? If the Listener does not survive this crisis, he has no one but himself to blame. At least, she and Shaleez can watch each other's backs.

* * *

How does one describe 'drunkenness'? After a single night's experience, Lucien has a definition for it; a destabilization of the boundaries between 'should' and 'should not'. Suppressed feelings and primal desires could easily gain an upper hand against the rationalized inhibitions of the self-protective and society-conscious human mind. It is a unique condition under which the wise can test out the true dispositions of those around them; any seed of disobedience and resentment should become much more discernible. It is rather regrettable that he gained the insight into such a useful experiment only recently. However, he does not particularly enjoy dwelling on what could have been. What interests him at present is finding out what exactly happened between them that fateful night. He wants her to be sober enough to remember the event while being intoxicated enough to forget the conversation he intends to initiate at an opportune time.

After three bottles of wine between them, Lucien finally notices the signs he has been waiting for. Antoinetta's speech begins to slur, and she is no longer apprehensive of making mistakes in his presence. Her stare is more intense and has lost that touch of shyness that she reserves for her Speaker. He will no longer have to drink himself to encourage her to drink more. Just a couple more glasses, and she should be ready.

* * *

"You are tired, child," Lucien says, gently stroking Antoinetta's hair and observing the face that rests on his lap. Her eyes are heavy with a contented sleepiness, but she will not leave his side voluntarily. "I will fetch the blankets. You should rest on the bed roll."

"Please let me stay like this, jut a little longer," Antoinetta pleads, not wanting to lose the feel of closeness.

"That night, when you came to see me," he whispers, his long fingers caressing the outer edges of her lips, "why did you …"

"Ask you to kiss me … on the lips?" Antoinetta finishes his question for him, just as Lucien hoped. "I thought it would make the night … perfect. I didn't want to have any regrets."

"And was it perfect?"

What Lucien really wished to ask was, 'Why did we go further?' or even 'Was I a willing participant?'. However, his sense of pride will not let him throw such blunt questions. He cannot possibly admit to her that he does not remember any part of the physical intimacy they shared. He runs his palm smoothly over her ear and neck, willing the gesture to influence her answers towards the right direction. The feel of her soft skin, however, serves as more than a subtle influence on Antoinetta's mind. An image flashes before his eyes; a clip of his lost memory unexpectedly returns to him. She was in his arms, with a dazed expression on her face, as he showered her with hot kisses. Lucien smiles at the realisation that he wasn't a hapless victim after all. He wasn't quite himself, but that had to be expected.

Antoinetta laughs softly and raises her head to meet his curious gaze. "It was perfect until I realised it could be better. Like just now," she says, eyes glassy with desire. Any trace of sleepiness has left her. "Your touch taught me to hope for the impossible."

For one sweet moment, their gazes lock and communicate the same desire and willingness to live in the present. Yet another piece of missing memory finds its way into Lucien's consciousness. He remembers how she whispered her desire. He recalls how beautiful and compelling she looked in her nakedness.

The smouldering look on her face, however, loses its hypnotising effect on Lucien as Antoinetta tries to rise from her sitting position. Her co-ordination lets her down, and she staggers hopelessly, her agility deserting her. Lucien manages to catch her in his arms, stifling the laugh that threatens to break out.

"You must sleep, child," he says, with a tone that does not allow any protest. "Next time I take you, we will both know what we are doing."


	7. Chapter 7

A.N. Many thanks to all those who have been reading and reviewing. You guys rock. :) Bellamont has yet to make his appearance, but at least I managed to make J'Ghasta appear in this chapter. And there will be a major surprise in the next chapter.

Hi antihero. :) Good to hear from you again. I try to keep Lucien and Antoinetta as much in picture as the progress of the plot allows. Thank you for the support.

Hi Poppy. I'm happy that you found the chemistry between the main characters working. Hopefully I can keep things that way and you will like this chapter. Thank you for the kind review. ^_^

* * *

Chapter Seven

J'Ghasta idly fiddles with his whiskers, throwing occasional glances at the burning letter in blazing flame. He has already memorised every word of Ungolim's written communication. It bothers him to know that the traitor still lives and is most likely to be a member of the Black Hand. The question is '_Who?_'. He knows Arquen has long suspected Lucien Lachance. The Night Mother's revelation will only strengthen her misgivings. J'Ghasta, however, does not believe that Lucien is the culprit. If the Imperial were the traitor, he would have attacked the members of the Hand first. Lucien has the ability to kill off any Hand member. There is no reason why he would have attacked his own sanctuary first.

In theory, Arquen or Banus could well be the assassin among assassins. It is, however, doubtful that they had the time to locate and kill off Lucien's subordinates. J'Ghasta's suspicion, therefore, falls on the Silencers. He rules out Hoar-Blood from the list. The Nord is known to spend most of his free time with his pet wolf. It never took more than a few hours before his Silencer responded to his call when not out on a contract. That narrows the potential suspects to three Hand members. The Khajiit rubs his delicate nose, trying to think what it is that Ungolim keeps from the council of the Hand. He would have expected an emergency meeting, given the grievous situation. Not everything is what it seems, and he has a sneaky feeling that Ungolim is on to something. Banus and Arquen may be kept in the dark as to the Listener's intentions. J'Ghasta, however, happens to have a client to visit in Leyawiin, and Bravil seems an ideal place to stop by.

* * *

The constant tap tapping of rain on the window slowly draws Antoinetta out of deep sleep. The first thing she notices about her, apart from the unpleasant hangover, is that she is back in the rented room of _Silverhome on the Water. _Lucien must have carried her back all the way. The thought causes her to smile, despite the unpleasant aches in her body. Soon, she detects something else, which turns her smile into a rather idiotic grin. She is wearing her nightdress. Since she was probably in no state to change her outfit, she can only deduce one conclusion, and it is a pleasing one.

Having had her agility and stealth return to her, Antoinetta moves about the room noiselessly and finds a flask of water to quench her thirst. She ponders what time of day it is and whether Lucien is still asleep. The lattice windows are now covered by makeshift black curtains, her Speaker's handiwork. His fondness for darkness plausibly explains why he has chosen Fort Farragut as his residence. That, and probably the fact that he does not have to pretend to be an ordinary citizen of Tamriel. Antoinetta cannot but feel rather disappointed as a quick glance towards his bed reveals Lucien's absence. She did not expect him to spend all his time with her in Bravil. However, their situation presents a rather unique opportunity for her to get close to him, and she wants to feel his presence at every moment while it lasts.

"Lucien," Antoinetta murmurs softly, slipping her hand under the blanket and feeling the faint warmth that still lingers. She is almost tempted to lie where he lay and go back to sleep, but resists the temptation, the pursuit of which will probably achieve nothing towards her goal of gaining his affection. He must have left a message of sorts, expecting her to follow his orders. Soon enough, her palm lands on a folded parchment that stands out against the smooth surface of the bed sheet. Antoinetta's cheeks burn in embarrassment. He seems to have developed a knack of predicting her behaviour in the bedroom environment.

_Dear Eliminator,_

_If you are reading this note before noon, it is likely that you suffer from the effects of enjoyable but somewhat unrestrained drinking. A green bottle on the desk will help you to remedy that little problem. I believe that you will remember well the location of the cave we visited together. Travel to the place unobserved. I will join you there after my audience with the Listener. Judging from the number of wine bottles we emptied, I trust that I will not have to wait long, if at all._

_Lucien Lachance_

* * *

"How is she doing?" asks Ungolim, gesturing Lucien to sit down on a low upholstered chair in the dim lit living room.

Lucien ponders the question a little. The Listener could be asking about anything, ranging from Antoinetta's health to her suitability for the task ahead. It is, however, not likely that Ungolim has developed sudden tenderness towards his subordinates.

"She is just as loyal and willing as she was before the purification," replies the Imperial Speaker. The almost imperceptible look of relief on Ungolim's face confirms that Lucien's assumption was not wrong. The Listener probably was concerned about the possibility that Antoinetta might be suffering from disillusion and bitterness.

"Has there been any further revelation from our Lady?" Lucien ventures, seeing that his host is beginning to fall into a meditative silence.

"Her words puzzle me somewhat. She told me that the course of Fate continued its reversing trend. I believe it is something to do with my decision to send Arquen to Cheydinhal, but I cannot comprehend the exact meaning behind her wisdom," Ungolim replies, then elaborates further, seeing Lucien's mystified look. "I told Arquen that she should see to it that the former residents of your sanctuary get a decent burial and that she would be in charge of recruitment till you could return to your normal responsibilities."

The Listener has been greatly relieved by the reception he got from his Lady on the previous night. Her tone resumed its caressing and seductive charm. Still, she seemed to have forgotten how to offer straightforward guidance. The crisis is far from being over. At least, however, Arquen will be too busy to be disruptive for a while. Her persistent distrust of Lachance has been already rubbing off on Banus. Ungolim returns the Imperial Speaker's appreciative smile and dismisses him from their brief meeting. He doesn't believe Lachance can offer useful insight into the hidden meaning behind the Night Mother's words. Perhaps, she didn't want to be understood. If her tone is anything to go by, however, things are improving.

* * *

The chamber at the back of the cave looks more spacious after Lucien shifted furniture around the room so that they all face one side of the room. It should be able to accommodate one more bedroll comfortably. Outside the rain pours down, and Antoinetta will be grateful for the warmth from the open fire. An assassin's life is often a life on the road, and it isn't that charming to be drenched in rain. Lucien certainly knows how to appreciate life indoors, even when away. He does, however, miss Fort Farragut and his usual duties. He has never envied the position of the Listener; speaking for their Unholy Matron has appealed to him more.

Life, however, will never be the same after what happened to his assassins. It will require years of work before the Cheydinhal Sanctuary can be restored to its former glory. A Speaker without competent subordinates carries little weight. Why, out of all the Speakers, was it he who had to bear the heaviest burden? The Night Mother's love is never gentle; she likes to test her dear children in the harshest manner. The policy of the Brotherhood when it comes to failure faithfully reflects her ways of love. Those who get caught while carrying out a contract are on their own.

Ignorance and incompetence are two of the most grievous sins that offend their Lady. He does not know whether she will smile at her Hand again. He regards, however, her revelations to Ungolim as a good sign. It was the Fate that he felt was working against him. Though he is as much in the dark as Ungolim about the exact meanings behind her words, he suspects that its terrible tide has turned for the better. That awareness does not, however, stop at providing a sense of welcoming optimism; it also causes a temporary lapse in his focus on the present and the future.

"Speaker?" Antoinetta calls out, her voice concerned. Though she was at her best with stealth, it worries her that Lucien has not noticed her coming in.

"Do you miss them?" Lucien asks offhandedly, his back still turned away from her.

Antoinetta hesitates to give her answer. He has not shown any sign of regret over the death of her family, his assassins. Strangely enough, it never bothered her, because it somewhat implied his strength. No sane Speaker would gladly agree to destroying his own limbs. He could not have been happy with the Hand decision. No one else in the Hand would have cared for the survival of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary as he did.

"Do you blame me for what happened to your Brothers and Sisters?"

He throws another question, slowly turning towards her. Antoinetta struggles to make out the expression on his face. It is impassive just like the tone which preceded it. There is, however, a flash of unease in his eyes. Then, she finally understands. She is the only one left with whom he can possibly communicate the sense of grief stemming from the meaningless sacrifice of his subordinates. It is not going to be the same kind of grief she feels; it is likely to be more akin to a sense of failure rather than guilt. All the same, she is the only one whom he can betray a glimpse of his thoughts on the event that brought them closer.

As Antoinetta tries to speak, Lucien shakes his head with a smile. The wetness of her face and lips makes her much too desirable. If he were not careful, he would ruin their valuable training session. Work always has to take precedence over play.

"I understand you do not blame me for the loss of your family. You should. I have no excuse for that particular failure of mine. But enough of this unproductive sentimentality. It does not serve Sithis. Come closer and take off your cloak, child. You must be soaked to the bone."

Antoinetta takes a towel from Lucien's hand and begins to dry her hair. The heat from the open fire rapidly warms her chilled body, and she is glad of the attentive care she is receiving from her Speaker.

"Do you know how to summon creatures?" Lucien asks, seeing Antoinetta placing the wet towel on a wooden chair.

"I have not yet learned that area of magic," Antoinetta confesses, her voice small.

"Then I will have to teach you conjuration spells sometime. I cannot always be with you to summon skeletons for your practice."

"You will teach me how to immobilise my targets?" Antoinetta cannot suppress a tone of excitement from her voice. Not that it would have achieved anything. Lucien can read her face like a book.

"I trust you will learn the spell and the extent of its demands on your magicka before nightfall," Lucien confirms.


	8. Chapter 8

A.N. I was hesitant about introducing Vicente at this stage and wondered about whether I am committing a character assassination for the sake of a slightly insane plot by making him seek retribution of sort. But the idea of bringing out another side to the perfect gentleman image appealed to me (after all, he too is a cold-hearted assassin), and purification seems to provide a perfect excuse for such a change.

Thank you as always to all of you who have been reading and taking time to give me feedback. ^_^

Hi again antihero :) I'm happy that you still find this fic interesting. Not much interaction between Lucien and Antoinetta in this chapter, but hope the new development in their relationship will make up for the neglect somewhat. Thank you for the continuing encouragement.

Hi Poppy. Thank you heaps for the beautiful review. ^_^ Yes, the business of purification is depressing. Such a drama. I wanted to give Lucien's perspective on the event, without making him go all soft and remorseful (I can't imagine Lucien doing that). This chapter will also have references to purification, but hope there will be enough distractions to prevent you from feeling sad. I am sure you won't be surprised when I tell you the second part was the most difficult part to write in this chapter. :)

* * *

Chapter Eight

Vicente drags himself up from the cold stone floor of the living quarter, where Lucien's Silencer slain no less than three of his family. There was really no point in fighting with Leonia. If the Black Hand wanted him dead, he was better off letting them believe he was. It didn't take much to fool Leonia, who had no experience in slaying vampires. The difficult part was to remove the powdered garlic all over his hair. It weakened him to the extent that simply walking to the bathroom and washing them off became a laborious task. Leonia must have read his note to Ocheeva before the assault. Vicente was probably the only one in the Sanctuary she bothered to show any kind of respect to. He was the first to be scheduled to go, and she even tried a sneak attack on him. A touching tribute indeed.

Ridding himself of the effects of the cursed substance took longer than he thought. Even the use of elementary magic was a hard struggle, and he chose to lie where he was supposed to have died, after consuming all the Restore Health potions he could find in the sanctuary. His vampiric strength and magicka finally restored, he decided that he had enough of playing dead, waiting for Lachance to come to bury his assassins. The Imperial must be still chasing Antoinetta to complete his Silencer's work.

Not having fed for sometime, the smell of spilt blood all around him begins to test his patience to the limit. He will have to drink blood he stored in his room for now and think through his next move. He cannot go as far as killing the Black Hand members despite their incompetent treachery. Sithis will however be more understanding if he settles for taking a pint of blood from each of them. He may be in the best position to catch the traitor out, now he is dead to the Brotherhood. He will not, however, lift a single finger to help the Black Hand before administering his own sweet retaliation on them. The sins of the unworthy can be washed away only by blood.

* * *

After ten paralysed skeletons and five immobilised Flame Atronachs, Lucien decides that Antoinetta should pull off the little trick if ever needed. The only purpose of summoning the last Flame Atronach was to watch her eyes widen in admiration; the sheer grace and beauty of the creatures seemed to delight and thrill her senses. Only after Lucien declares the training session over, does she notice that her fingers and palm were badly stinging. She must have touched one of the Atronachs at some point.

Without a warning, Lucien grabs her wrist and raises her hand to examine the extent of the damage. "In the long run, it will be beneficial for you to learn how to utilize the left hand for casting spells," he advises coolly, his long fingers hovering over her palm. A gentle wave of healing energy flows into her skin, the tingling sensation making Antoinetta feel giddy. She is, however, very much aware of the light weight placed on her wrist, his weight. Antoinetta closes her eyes for fear of Lucien reading her thoughts, wanton images swarming and overpowering.

"What is it that you are afraid of?"

An involuntary shiver runs down her spine as Lucien's lips graze the tip of her ear lobe. His thumb brushes her jaw line before settling on the edge of her lips, filling her with exasperating anticipation.

"Can you not risk rejection? Or is it that you can only find the courage when at least one of us isn't quite our usual self?"

The silky whispers contain a tinge of amusement, but also something else; they convey his desire and his need to feel her beneath his frame. Eyes still tightly closed, Antoinetta wraps her arms loosely about him and hopes she has not misinterpreted his intentions. Lucien finds the timid gesture rather endearing. He does not doubt that it is an act confirming her own desire, but the uncharacteristic shyness tells him that he has something of her that no one else has access to. For now though, that side of Antoinetta will have to be suppressed. He will no longer deny himself what has been his all along.

"Open your eyes, Antoinetta," Lucien commands, his thumb working on her bottom lip and his breath hot on her forehead. "I need my little temptress back."

The Imperial pulls back a little from Antoinetta's embrace to observe her lust-filled gaze, one hand pressing the nape of her neck and the other cupping her chin. He likes what he sees; all traces of self-doubt seem to have left the Breton assassin by now. Antoinetta inhales deeply to savor the musky male scent that surrounds her.

"How would you like your temptress, Speaker?"

"I like mine … without armor."

* * *

A figure clad in a black cloak materialises in the middle of the eerie, pitch dark hall of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Bellamont smiles at the darkness. _How comforting. Even the torch lights are extinguished. The purification must have been complete. _The heavy and slow footsteps alert him that there is still something living in the sanctuary, or rather something not quite dead. The Dark Guardian still roams the place, though there is nothing to guard. Bellamont checks the urge to smash the skeleton into pieces. No need to arouse unwanted suspicions. Nevertheless, he simply cannot resist the temptation to gloat at the former residents. Poor fools. They thought they had a family.

Having paid his respect to M'raaj-Dar, Ocheeva, Teinaava, Telaendril and Gogron gro-Bolmog through telling them how much pleasure it gives him to find them undisputedly dead, Bellamont continues his search of each and every room. The smug expression on his face, however, quickly vanishes as he comes across the still body of Leonia.

He does not recognise the Dunmer, and that is exactly the problem. She must be the one who joined the Brotherhood after he left for Anvil and was always out on those occasions when he called at the Sanctuary. Though he holds only contempt and hatred towards Lachance's newest pet, her death means that Lucien will have no Silencer. That, unfortunately, clashes with the master plan he hatched since the introduction of the Dead Drop Order system. He will have to do his own dirty work, no matter how dangerous. His scheme of using Leonia's exceptional talent in removing the Hand members one by one is simply not viable.

No longer in the mood for relishing his victory, Bellamont heads for the well ladder. He will have to find somewhere to rest his tired legs before leaving for Chorrol to fulfill his latest assignment. The quicker he completes the contract, the more time he will have for locating the whereabouts of the Hand members. All is not lost. The Dead Drop Order system can still work to his advantage. All he has to do is to forge Banus' orders, which will give him the extra benefit of spending all his time in pursuing his personal vendetta. He won't have to wait for Lachance's demise too long, after all. No one in the Black Hand can match his skills when the element of surprise is on his side.

The exit of the dark cloaked figure from the underground sanctuary is a welcome relief to Vicente, whose power of self-restraint has been tested to the very limit during Bellamont's brief visit. The urge to strangle the life out of the mole was eating away inside, but he managed to refrain from doing that. He has to keep a promise to himself first, and the traitor cannot be slain without concrete proof. For all he knows, the Black Hand may well decide to trust Bellamont's words over his.

Bellamont was still a boy when he was initiated into the Brotherhood after killing his father. He looked somewhat disturbed and was blatantly hostile at the beginning. Vicente, however, assumed such a disposition only natural for one who could commit murder against his own kin at a young age. Overtime, Bellamont learned to interact with his new family and proved to be an apt pupil. A glimpse of loathing he observed from his pupil's steeley eyes in rare moments, Vicente simply treated as a deep-rooted symptom of unhappiness or perhaps a sense of arrogant superiority towards less talented assassins.

He should have known better. His ignorance has helped Bellamont to transform into one of the most highly skilled members in the Brotherhood. Even so, Vicente cannot easily forget nor forgive the folly of the Black Hand. The cowards have sought an easy way out to protect their sorry skins, and a few lessons from Bellamont will not hurt them too much. After all, he has no obligation to save the lives of his Brothers and Sisters who ordered his own demise without much qualm.

Vicente's musings are disrupted as he hears the main entrance door asking that familiar question, "What is the colour of the Night?" Quickly casting an invisibility spell, he stays still, watching a black robed Altmer and an Argonian in shrouded armour walk in his direction. The clothing clearly reveals the rank of at least one of them. _A Speaker and probably her Silencer. How lovely, my first pint of fresh blood has just arrived._

"Shaleez, light the torches and candles. I'm rather sick of seeing everything in blue light," Arquen speaks, throwing herself onto a comfortable sofa in the the hall.

"Do you want me to set to work immediately, Speaker?" asks Shaleez dutifully. She is rather tired after her journey, but she doesn't want to be reminded of what happened here for too long.

"Yes," Arquen confirms, massaging her temple in an attempt to quell her sense of frustration. "The stench here is simply insufferable, and we cannot assume that Speaker Lachance will show up with his runaway blonde anytime soon. I've already paid the owner of the cemetery we visited earlier. I want this place inhabitable before dawn."

"Such a lot of trouble for a worthless whore who probably escaped death by sheer luck," Arquen mutters to herself angrily once Shaleez vanishes into a living quarter. "Why repeal the purification order at this stage? It will take so much time to rehabilitate the terrified mouse into any decent shape."

Vicente smiles his invisible smile as the terrible, yet sweet implication of Arquen's words sink in. He is no longer a condemned vampire.


	9. Chapter 9

A.N. I don't feel guilty about writing the first part of this chapter, since the fic has an M rating. However, if the image of Vicente caressing Arquen is just a bit too much, please just skip the first part and read the rest. I tried to make the offending section as humorous as I could, but I admit that I am not very good at writing anything humorous. :( Just hope you will still enjoy the chapter.

A big Thank you as always to those who have been reading and encouraging me to go on.

Reply to Poppy: Hello again and thank you for yet another delightful review. ^_^ I love to hear from you. I'm glad that you were happy with Vicente's appearance. He is my favourite vampire, too, though Lucien will always be my favourite NPC in Oblivion. Hope you will continue to read and enjoy this fic. :)

* * *

Chapter Nine

It has been long, too long, since Arquen had gratifying sex. Her duties as a Speaker rarely gave time or opportunity to develop a love interest. Besides, unlike her colleagues who didn't mind which race warmed up their beds, she never allowed herself to stoop so low to be caressed by anyone who did not belong to her own high and mighty kind. Her sexual frustration somewhat explains the vivid and disturbing dream, which had been agreeable till ...

"I am surprised that you fell asleep, Speaker. This place is full of ghosts who do not welcome your presence here."

Arquen gets up in a lightening speed, her hand sliding under the pillow only to find that her enchanted dagger is missing. Forgetting the fact that she is not clothed, the Altmer rolls off the bed and promptly casts the night eye spell, readying herself to send a flying fireball at the intruder. Her speed mildly impresses Vicente, but he happens to be quicker. Arquen soon finds herself hopelessly pinned down on the bed, both her hands raised above her head and tightly bound by a thick rope. Only then, she realises the full depth of her humiliation, and fear spreads like wildfire inside her.

"I have no wishes to harm you, dear Sister. I only desire to have your audience and exact a payment that is my due," says Vicente soothingly, with an ambivalent smile.

The fury in Arquen's demeanour dissolves rapidly into a dismal hunger, as their eyes finally meet. She cannot believe how attractive her captor looks. It doesn't even register with her that he is no Altmer. The gaunt cheeks and missing eyebrows fail to invoke her normal reaction to such an abhorrent sight. Men were inferior to mers, and vampires were inferior still. They were more akin to animals.

"Your … your name?" Arquen is vaguely aware of the fact that her behaviour is not normal. Then again, isn't infatuation supposed to feel like this? The sheer strength and charm that radiates off the vampire is too much for her long-neglected body to resist.

"Vicente Valtieri, your obedient servant," murmurs the Executioner, smiling at the flustered face of his prisoner. Altmers by nature have little resistance to any type of magic, and vampires have the strongest charm spell at their disposal. After three hundred years' existence as a vampire, Vicente has thoroughly mastered the trick that is essential to the survival of his kind. It helps too that Arquen was probably never exposed to the effects of a charm spell. Besides, he has plenty of experience with elves.

Arquen moans and writhes with pleasure as Vicente's cold lips caress her long face and sensitive ears while his fingers attend the need of her aching breasts. Then suddenly, he pulls himself away from his eager victim.

"Why?" Arquen cries, confused and disappointed.

"Perhaps, this isn't such a good idea," Vicente replies. "You could decide to condemn me for what I intend to do with you."

"I would never …"

"It would reassure me if you give your promise in writing," Vicente compromises, freeing her hands from the binding and motioning to a parchment and a quill that he placed on the bedside table during her sleep.

Arquen quickly scribbles Vicente's demands on the paper, not stopping to think how embarrassing it could become if a third party reads the contents. Satisfied with her efforts, Vicente resumes his assault on Arquen with deliberate care. As the elf's loud moans begin to resemble something of a scream, the vampire finally sinks his fangs into her neck.

* * *

Antoinetta isn't the prettiest thing Lucien has ever held in his arms. Nor is she the most skilled lover he has encountered. She is, however, the only one with whom he shared his bed without having to conjure up a fake identity. It is a sweet feeling to know that her acceptance of him was without make-believe. Even sweeter, she knew, both from experience and keen observation, how to mould her desires to his needs. No words were necessary to make his demands known to her; she anticipated them well and moved accordingly.

The only sounds Lucien appreciates during the course of physical intimacy are those of the body, whimpering, gasping, rough breathing and wild hearts beating. They are perfectly in harmony with the workings of the Chaos in which the trials and struggles of the individuals come to an end. Unlike death, however, the participants of the primal ceremony do not fight the abandonment of self. In fact, they strive for it; they instinctively understand such loss is the very goal of sex. Boundaries, albeit imperfect, tend to blur in that ancient ritual that existed from the beginning of time, opposing forces and principles coming together, aiding each other to reveal the glimpse of the secrets that Sithis reserves for the dead.

The flames of the open fire were long extinguished, and Lucien knows their sweat-streaked bodies will soon feel the chill if he doesn't make an effort to cover them. He sits up and looks down at the sweet, exhausted face before catching the corner of the blanket that lies around their knees. Antoinetta stays still, eyes half closed and lips slightly parted. A candle light from a nearby low table brushes her features seductively. Lucien plants a gentle kiss on her forehead before returning to the comfort of his bedroll. Encouraged by the gesture but still unsure, Antoinetta turns to the side and hesitantly rests one hand over his chest. Lucien places his hand over hers, to let her know that it can stay there.

"You seem to have lost your appetite for words, Speaker," Antoinetta ventures. "Was your temptress that overwhelming?"

Lucien knew it was too good to be true. Antoinetta cannot remain silent for too long. Still, he does not begrudge her for seeking a verbal communication; she has earned more than that for herself. She surpassed his expectations.

"She was rather impressive," he confirms. The past year, he had neither the time nor the inclination to pursue sexual interests, and he is glad that it is Antoinetta who lies next to him at present. Though his gaze is mindlessly fixed on the ceiling, he can sense the pride and glee that is clearly written on her face. She can be so delightfully simple, and he wants to keep her that way.

* * *

Arquen lets out a groan as her consciousness slowly returns. The loss of blood makes it difficult for her to focus, but she can make out the face that looks down at her.

"You are still here," Arquen growls, suppressing the urge to rip the vampire into pieces. Unfortunately, she already swore, in the name of her Dread Father, that she would never attempt to cause any harm to the creature. She is mortified by what she has done. Such an expensive payment for one night's pleasure, and there is nothing she can do to avenge her wounded pride. All she can do is shake with rage and grind her teeth.

"I have duly received my payment, and now I seek your audience. I hope our discourse will be agreeable to both parties," Vicente replies with a polite vow.

"Say what you have to say and leave. After that, stay as far away as you can from me. I cannot be responsible for my actions if you keep provoking me."

"That could be rather difficult. You see I am an Executioner of this Sanctuary, and that makes me the Sanctuary Master in Ocheeva's absence. Unfortunately, it seems that you are in temporary charge of the place. It is not going to be easy for us to keep avoiding each other. Besides, we are supposed to give the impression of a big happy family to new recruits. My professionalism will not permit me anything less."

Vicente smiles charmingly as he watches Arquen's gold complexion turning white before offering a compromise.

"However, I could be away long enough if I know where to find other members of the Black Hand. I believe they owe me the same debt you've already paid for. I'm certain Lachance will resume his usual duties by the time I come back."

Arquen nods with disdain. Though she hates the idea of being any use to the loathsome vampire, she cannot bear the thought of being reminded of her folly everyday. In any case, the purification decision was made collectively. There is no reason why she alone should take the blame and put up with the resentful vampire. That she pushed that line harder than her colleagues doesn't make her more responsible for the resolution than others. Actually less so, truth to be told. Unlike her gutless colleagues, she had a good reason to push that line. Purification left Lachance no one else to take the blame for his treachery. Of course, Lachance was the traitor. The killings could not have been carried out by anyone less skilled than a member of the Hand.

"Fine, I will give you the information you want," Arquen finally voices her consents, eager to get rid of him from the room, and from her life. Hopefully, one of her colleagues will remove him from this world altogether.

"Wait," Arquen calls out as Vicente puts his hand on the door handle. "You haven't infected me with your vile disease?"

"I chose not to share my dark gift, dear Sister," Vicente responds serenely. "I do not believe you have earned that right."


	10. Chapter 10

A.N. Here is chapter ten, which I needed more time to write. Hope you enjoy. A big Thank you as always to those who have been reading and reviewing. :) That of course includes you antihero. It was lovely to hear from you again and know that you are still enjoying the story. ^_^ And Poppy, if you are reading, I really missed your review. Hope you haven't given up this fic.

* * *

Chapter Ten

The narrow length of her temporary office does not help Arquen to think clearly because she likes pacing when scheming. Ungolim's messenger is still waiting for her reply in the large hall. She knows he will not mind the delay, but the Listener may not share the same opinion. She cannot believe how quickly the little Bosmer sent her the first instruction for recruitment. She is to travel to Bruma to meet with a Redguard whose cold blooded murder has impressed the Night Mother. Wouldn't it be just so much simpler to send J'Ghasta instead?

The annoying message is, however, not her chief concern. Arquen cannot rest till she finds a way of somehow avenging her humiliation at the hands of a mere vampire. She is beginning to think that invoking the Wrath of Sithis cannot be worse than what she is currently going through. Vicente may be out of her sight, but not quite out of her mind. She is therefore debating furiously with herself whether she should inform the Listener of her discovery that the blond whore wasn't the only one who survived the amateurish attacks of the much prized, and quite dead, Dunmer Silencer.

Since she believes she will probably defeat the Wrath anyway, she is now more concerned about her writing Vicente keeps as a kind of insurance. Then again, not reporting his survival is to neglect her duties. Even the vampire will understand her delicate position. If she just tells the messenger that there is a vampire on the loose, Ungolim will be obliged to inform the Hand. If they are smart enough, they may be just ready for the strike and hopefully eliminate the miserable existence of the Undead creature. If not, she will appear innocent of any harm intended towards the vile brute. It is not as satisfactory a plan as she would like, but it will have to do for now.

* * *

The cave is completely dark now, but Antoinetta does not feel the need to resort to a spell to see the face that is dearer to her than any other. The surrounding silence is made soothing and pleasing by the even breathing and regular heart beating of the man whose affection she once thought to be a mere dream. It still is a dream, but no longer so distant; something that she can turn into reality. She feels safe, content and very much whole, even as she is well aware of the fact that he may never be able to fully return her feelings towards him. Devotion is her lot and the only key to his heart.

_Lucien_. She merely mouths the name, soundless, though it is tempting to let the sweet calling penetrate into his dream. For she suspects that addressing him in that way is to lose him, to increase the distance between them. Pushing her face gently into his neck, Antoinetta lets herself indulge in their intimacy; she feels him under her stretched palm, smells him all around her, and smiles at the heat trapped under a thick blanket. Time will not stand still for any mortal, and she knows only too well that life must be lived to the full while it lasts.

"You are awake," Lucien mutters, coming out of half-sleep. The delicate weight pressed against him shifts slightly to acknowledge his perception. "How long?"

"It has not been long, Speaker. I was afraid to wake you," she says, choosing her words carefully while not straying from the truth.

Lucien smiles at the reply, the way she treats him like a delicate flower or a fragile piece of expensive antic. Not the fussing, of course. Never the uncomfortable fussing. Just the pleasant amount of fear and adoration. The secret of intimacy is to keep the fine balance between distance and closeness. She has somehow learned to lose herself to him without expecting a gesture of reciprocity, an endearing trait that causes him to believe she is exclusively …

_Mine. _She has been that way since she laid her eyes on him for the first time, even as Lucien refused to do anything about it. He ponders whether he would have taken her, had it not been for the exceptional circumstances. Such an idea would have presented itself as absurd before. Now, though, he isn't so sure.

"How much do you know about Matthew Bellamont?" Lucien delves into an unwelcoming, but inevitable topic. She needs to know the strength and cunning of his former protégé, whose skills he thought would please their Unholy Matron. Bellamont left Cheydinhal soon after Antoinetta's arrival, and it is not likely that she knows much about him.

"He seemed quiet and reserved most of the time. He preferred speaking with M'raaj-Dar and Ocheeva on rare occasions when he visited the Sanctuary after he left for Anvil. Both of them were in high opinion of his skills in Illusion, stealth and blade," Antoinetta replies thoughtfully.

"He paid visits to the Sanctuary?" Lucien's voice contains both surprise and dismay. He cannot believe that he never received reports of such calls from Ocheeva or Vicente, when both of them had been explicitly told to impart knowledge of any unusual happenings. Apparently, unannounced visits from their former family member did not qualify as such. Had he known, he would have had something he could use to dissuade the Hand from the drastic measure they adopted.

"I … we thought that was how M'raaj-Dar and Ocheeva knew so much about the killings," Antoinetta mumbles, baffled by the sudden tension in the air.

"How much did they know about the … killings?" Lucien asks, making deliberate efforts to soften his tone. It isn't Antoinetta's fault that he knew so little about the events in his own Sanctuary.

"We have known that the Black Hand lost its own to the traitor," says Antoinetta, worriedly staring into his inscrutible eyes. "Is everything under control, Speaker?"

"The information came as a surprise, but it is valuable," the Imperial Speaker reassures, giving a light squeeze on her bare shoulder. There really is no point in telling her how things could have changed after all that had happened, which reminds him of how apart they are despite their nearness.

There are ideas, feelings that could not be shared with anyone; Antoinetta is the closest thing that he has, but she will not be allowed more than mere glimpses of his innermost thoughts. Not because she doesn't want to be afflicted by them, but because everyone is alone in the end, each bearing his own burden, and some are even more so than others. Feeling her head on his shoulder, Lucien wraps his arm around her, inhaling the smell of lavender soap, delightfully mingled with his own scent. It touches him to know how willingly she has accepted him, how directly his need and desires commanded her attention.

Alone and connected at the same time.

* * *

Banus Alor's mood is rather solemn as he patiently waits for Ungolim to speak of what business has called upon his presence here with the prescribed urgency and secrecy. For the past ten minutes or so since his arrival, all they talked about was his uneventful journey and the quality of the Cyrodilic tea he has been sipping without paying much attention to. He is of course no fool, and has a understanding that this meeting is something to do with his Silencer. Since Ungolim made it known in his message that the purification order has not achieved its desired goal, he can put two things together and deduce that Matthew Bellamont's loyalty may be in question. He cannot, however, make out exactly what his Silencer has done to become a prominent suspect.

The unnecessary small talk is beginning to grate on his nerves. Banus finally relaxes and leans back against the sofa as Ungolim leaves the living room to answer a sequence of knocks on the front door with a distinctively recognisible pattern. Five successive taps. A pause followed by another five successive taps. At least, the puzzling delay can be accounted for. He probably wasn't the only one Ungolim was expecting.

"J'Ghasta," Ungolim hisses low, his eyes hardening at the innocent grin of the unexpected guest at his door step. "I have not sent for you."

"I am on my way to Leyawiin and both myself and my horse could do with a rest," The Khajiit replies, refusing to take the hint. "I also happen to have urgent business to discuss with you."

Ungolim urshers J'Ghasta inside and closes the door behind them. It is only late afternoon, and attracting the attention of mostly nosy townfolks is the last thing he wants. His odd habit of spending so much time in front of the town's celebrated statue has already gained him more than enough of that. It is times like this that he can understand why Lucien settled for choosing a dismal fort as his main residence.

"Can we discuss this after you finish your business in Leyawiin? I am really rather occupied at the moment," Ungolim says quietly, albeit somewhat stiffly, trying to keep his words out of the reach from the curious Dunmer upstairs. Then, realising the immenent arrival of yet another Speaker, he relents to J'Ghasta's stubborn expression, which seems to say 'Not on this occasion, dear Listener'. The Khajiit is sure to hang around to find out the reasons behind the inhospitable reception. "You better go upstairs and meet Banus. I will be joining you shortly."

After exchanging customary greetings, J'Ghasta seats himself opposite Banus, who, despite the charming smile he has put on, says nothing about the nature of his business with the Listener. From his plain civilian clothing, however, J'Ghasta can infer that the Anvil Speaker is not there for a formal meeting, which of course sets his mind at ease. He would have been appalled, had he been left out of an official Hand meeting. Not that it is likely for such a gathering to take place while the sun is still high on the sky. Nor would Ungolim ever let his priviate home used for such a hazadous venture.

Ten long minutes pass in causal conversations that neither Speaker is interested in, their ears conspicuously picking up the faint sound of footsteps below, which finally ends with the familiar succession of knocks at the main entrance. Hushed whispers ensue, followed by contemplative silence and more whsipers. J'Ghasta can tell that his unexpected presence is the source of the debate. He grins at the thought that he couldn't have picked up a better time for his surprise visit.


	11. Chapter 11

A.N. No Antoinetta in this chapter. :( There was a little scene with Antoinetta in it, but it didn't fit with the chapter very well. So, I've decided to use the bit for the next chapter. Thank you again for reading and reviewing. :)

Hi antihero. :) I'm happy that you are still reading and enjoying the story. You have been most kind. :)

Hello Poppy. I had to smile when you asked about Bellamont because he was going to be in this chapter (and in the next chapter as well). So good to hear from you again. Thank you for being so supportive. ^_^

* * *

Chapter Eleven

"So, J'Ghasta, I believe you want to discuss a Hand business with me. Do you object to the presence of your fellow Speakers?"

"Not at all, esteemed Listener," the Khajiit replies, pleased with his achievement so far. "Their input would be of great help in determining the next course of action against the threat we must deal with."

"Accept my apology, dear friend. There was a good reason to take measure without the council of the Hand as a whole. Banus' co-operation was essential to the plan Lucien and I devised. Now, however, you are here, and we intend to involve you in our scheme."

"Forgive me, revered Listener. But is there a credible reason to suspect my Silencer above other Hand members? We cannot be certain that the traitor has not already obtained the rank of a Speaker," Banus interjects, eyeing his Imperial colleague warily. "Matthew Bellamont is not the only one who has a link to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary."

Lucien stares at the Dunmer, feeling incredulous and annoyed at the accusation, subtle and yet all too obvious. He was of course aware that his position could easily turn precarious. It still does not help with the bitter feeling that rises from the pit of his stomach. _Had I been a traitor, dear Brother, you would not have been alive this long._

"It is of course safe to assume that any of us could be the conspirator," J'Ghasta, ever an eager mediator, quickly intervenes and proceeds to explain why he believes that one of the Silencers makes a more plausible suspect. He does not believe that his reasoning will entirely convince Banus. Nevertheless, it may prove to Ungolim that he can be trusted with sensitive information that not even the position of Speaker can automatically warrant. It will also earn gratitude from his Imperial Brother since a third party is almost always in a far better position to defend someone, whose integrity is called into a question, than they themselves.

"We have not condemned Bellamont to the fate of a traitor. He is a mere suspect at this stage. However, from the gravity of the threat we are facing, we cannot let him operate without close observation. The situation also necessitates a swift response to a further development without first obtaining the consent of the Black Hand," Ungolim concludes, having backed up and narrowed down J'Ghasta's analysis with his own and Lucien's thoughts on the likely suspects.

By now, Banus is shifting his weight uncomfortably, disturbed by the thought that his own Silencer could have been plotting the demise of the Black Hand. The thought occurred to him before, but only as a remote possibility. Somehow, Bellamont looked insignificant in the scheme of things. It does not comfort him to know that his Silencer took his time between contracts on several occasions. Worse, he fears the barrage of questions regarding his Silencer, which will make him look incompetent. For it finally dawns on him that he knows very little about the Breton assassin.

Lucien, who has remained silent thus far, initiates the inevitable questioning. "By what means did you contact him before the Dead Drop Order system was introduced?"

"I sent him messages to the Anvil Sanctuary," Banus responds and adds with a feeling of dread. "There were a few times when he was not contactable, times when he didn't stop at the sanctuary for a while. Nothing unusual, of course; no more than the freedom we ourselves enjoyed during our days of the field work."

Lucien says nothing about the feeble excuse, though he is greatly tempted. Seeing the Dunmer fidget feels good, of course, but causing such a reaction is not conducive to future co-operation. He can already deduce from the reply that Banus does not have the faintest idea where his Silencer stays between contracts, negating the need for another embarrassing question. Therefore, he merely directs his questions to the matter of Bellamont's current contract and the next Dead Drop Order location, with which Banus can be seen as being helpful rather than badly informed. The strategy works, making the Dunmer appear visibly relaxed by the time he finishes supplying the required information.

Silence reigns, as Lucien relays to the party his latest discovery, Bellamont's unprofessional communications with the residents of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Lucien does not rush his final question for Banus. He waits till the implications of his disclosure fully sinks in among his audience.

"In light of these new findings, do enlighten us. Have you trusted him with any contract within the vicinity?"

"I have not," Banus concedes. Judging from the meaningful exchange of glances between Ungolim and J'Ghasta, his Silencer is now as good as guilty. Even he can see that Bellamont must be found and closely observed.

* * *

Framing Banus as a traitor is not half as enjoyable as plotting for the perfect demise of Lucien Lachance. Entertainment value aside, such a scheme has its advantages and disadvantages. Apart from the fact that he no longer needs to do the bidding of the black-hearted witch he despises with passion, it is much easier to forge a letter from Banus as he carries one such example with him. On the other hand, Banus does not have the golden link to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, a sure way to arouse suspicion.

An obstacle, but by no means insurmountable. It can be fixed with one seemingly failed assassination attempt. The survivor will ensure that the Hand will see him as a mere puppet and the blame will fall squarely on the lean shoulders of the Dunmer who happens to be his direct superior. A skilful forger is all that he needs, and there are many of them throughout the cities of Cyrodiil. More important is to locate the Hand members whose main residence is still not known to him. Not all of them did he have the pleasure of delivering Banus' signed letters to. Banus might as well have given him contracts to kill them off.

Alval Uvani, Havilstein Hoar-Blood, Shaleez, Ungolim. Handing over the reigns of his black steed to a rather apprehensive-looking stable hand, Bellamont runs through the list of the targets he has yet to search out. Since he cannot slay Banus and needs to keep one of his victims alive, his options at this point are rather limited, which does not bode well for his fairly risky strategy. However, he has stayed long enough with the Brotherhood to learn one fatal weakness that they are susceptible to.

The Black Hand must communicate.

Sooner or later, J'Ghasta will either receive a communication from or send one to a member of the Black Hand. All he has to do is watch and follow the messenger.

It is not going to be long before justice will be served. He can already smell the sweet euphoria of his ultimate triumph. With the blood of every Hand member and the death of the Night Mother, he will celebrate the beating of his frosty heart, colder than the biting winds of Bruma.

* * *

There is a look of relief in every face as the four figures, unlikely to be found together in the cosy living room at any other time, come to an agreement as to their respective roles in solving the crisis that the Black Hand has endured. The dispositions and skills of their prime suspect have been discussed in great detail. The possible steps he may take and likely motives for committing the treachery were also debated, though less satisfactorily. The revelation that Bellamont was already aware of the main residence of all four Speakers, a courtesy of the Anvil Speaker's trust of his Silencer, was what disturbed them most. He could easily pose as Banus' messenger before striking, and Arquen was not immune from meeting such a fate.

Whether Arquen should be informed of the danger in some way before she assumes her usual duties was fiercely debated between Banus and J'Ghasta, an argument the Khajiit won eventually. Without luring Bellamont into a false sense of security, they would not have the evidence they needed. It was important that they gave the impression that no one made a connection between Bellamont and the treachery. Their Altmer colleague, J'Ghasta reasoned, would lash out at the Breton assassin upon sight, if she were to be informed of the contents of their discourse. She would not take any chance with her life in danger. Bellamont might end up dead, but they would never know whether the threat was finally over. In any case, she should know by now that the traitor was likely to be a member of the Black Hand. That alone should make her aloof around Bellamont enough not to drop her guard.

Banus makes his exit first, hoping to find a decent meal before he takes off back to Anvil, where he intends to carry out a bit of research. Bellamont was originally found in the port city, and could have been admitted into the Anvil Sanctuary, had it not been already full at the time. It is likely that someone will remember him. The mystery surrounding the Breton assassin's motive may finally come to light, if he really is the traitor, the likelihood of which Banus can no longer contradict with ease.

J'Ghasta is the next scheduled to leave. Though he has taken his time in making cordial enquiries as to Antoinetta's abilities and dispositions, he is eager to leave his superior's residence. The heavy smell of sage hanging in the air is rather too homely for his taste. So are the quaint paintings on the panelled wall. His departure is, however, delayed by yet another coded sequence of knocks on the front door. The Khajiit Speaker's apprehension that it could be their Altmer colleague turns out to be groundless as he can make out that the voice of the new arrival by no means belongs to a female.

"Dear friends," Ungolim addresses his Speakers with an ambivalent tone, as they descend down the stairs. "It seems that we may still have Vicente Valtieri with us in the service of our Unholy Matron."


	12. Chapter 12

A.N. Apologies for the later than usual update. It's taking me longer to write as the plot progresses. :( More Bellamont in this chapter. As much as I dislike Bellamont, I cannot see Lucien without him. Bellamont kind of defines a part of Lucien, because it's the threat he poses makes Lucien grow as a character.

Hi Antihero. :) Antoinetta is back in this chapter as promised. :) Thank you once again for the support and hope you enjoy this chapter.

Hello Poppy. Always happy to hear from you. ^_^ Thank you for letting me know that you missed the story. I really appreciated it. :)

* * *

Chapter Twelve

The bags are packed and heavy on her shoulders. Antoinetta throws a wistful look at the small dusty chamber before heading towards the cave entrance. She has been to many places, most of which left little impression on her mind. It is not likely that she will return here again, but every little comfort that the humble space offered will be remembered fondly.

Fresh winds cool her exposed skin as she climbs down the steep riverbank. The view that greets her is pleasing to her eyes. Mountain peaks line the horizon, their shadows dancing on the ripples of the flowing water. The sparkling stars and bright moons seem illusively close when reflected on the river below. For a while, Antoinetta's gaze is fixed upon the uncaring beauty of nature while her senses remain alert to the sounds of her surroundings. Minutes seem to stretch into hours, as she stands still, attentive and lost at the same time. Even the brilliant landscape begins to lose its appeal, and she grows weary of the wait.

_How we easily tire of things._

The thought makes her feel suddenly nervous. She has certainly gained Lucien's attention, but it is another matter to keep it. It is human nature to change and evolve, to grow restless and seek what is not yet in their possession. She herself was never fascinated by anyone for long. A part of Lucien's charm is the distance he carefully places between himself and any other. Antoinetta will never tire of him for that very reason. On the other hand, they both know well that she is already his without doubts.

The apprehensive expression gives way to eager anticipation as she hears the sound of a steed approaching the cave. She turns and climbs up the bank. With a smile, she embraces the hand that stretches out towards her. No one can predict the future, but that does not mean one should live in the constant fear of loss. She certainly doesn't want to lose her chance before her time.

* * *

It has been a long journey from Cheydinhal to Bruma, especially when he did not sleep more than a couple of hours the pervious night. Bellamont despises the human need to sleep and rest, so he worked hours since his arrival at Bruma, breaking into J'Ghasta's house like a shadow creeping in darkness and bribing the beggars, ever greedy for another bottle of mead, to enquire about the whereabouts of the famed boxer in the city.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of J'Ghasta, and the information he bought from the tramps is not promising. It could be a week before the Khajiit returns to the city. It was a lifetime ago when he swore to avenge his mother's death. Considering the length of time he lay low as a dormant agent, carefully and masterfully weaving the web of deceit and hate, one might expect a week means nothing to him.

Not any longer.

The realisation that his goal is now within sight makes him more impatient than usual. Besides, wasting a week doing nothing else but waiting is a risky business when he has no intention of carrying out any more contracts for the Brotherhood. He will have to revise his plan and instead seek out Arquen, whose main residence lies between Bravil and the Imperial City. It is, therefore, with bitter disappointment that he enters Olav's Tap and Tack, to reluctantly tender the needs of his body that even his sturdy will power cannot entirely subdue.

The taproom is rather noisy, with a few drunkards sitting around a circular table in the centre, arguing among themselves and paying no heed to the meek protests from the innkeeper. The heat emanating from a stone hearth does little to endear the place to Bellamont, who detests loud noises and unruly behaviour. Still, drunkards are no threat to him as they are not the most observant. A Dunmer customer, dining quietly at a corner table, does, however, aggravate the Breton assassin. The dark-skinned mer is plainly dressed as a merchant, but Bellamont recognises a professional killer when he is around one.

After renting a room and buying a loaf of bread from the red-nosed Nord publican, who has enough conscience to warn his customers the state of his rooms despite the somewhat dishonest look about him, Bellamont quickly heads towards the stairs. Once there, he casts an invisibility spell and sneaks back into the taproom, with every intention to observe the Dunmer further without being noticed.

By now, the argument has turned into a messy fight. Weapons are drawn, and after a few clumsy attempts to stab each other, one of them receives an injury on the shoulder and runs out the taproom, causing the other two to chase after him. Bellamont notices how the Dunmer has not even bothered to take his eyes off his plate during the whole fiasco. _A sign of confidence that borders on arrogance._ An insane rage, loathing without apparent cause, grips Bellamont like scorching desire. He does not realise the fact that the Dunmer he decides to punish on a mere whim is in fact Alval Uvani, the Listener's Silencer and one of his legitimate targets. He vaguely suspects that the object of his hatred is an accomplished member of the Dark Brotherhood, and that is more than enough reason to act after the frustration of not finding J'Ghasta.

* * *

After hours of riding through darkness, the relatively mild weather of Bravil is long behind the riders. When Lucien finally slows Shadowmere to a halt near the Old Bridge, south of the Imperial City, Antoinetta is pretty sure her face has turned into an ugly shade of blue. Perhaps, it isn't such a bad thing that the night eye spell makes everything appear blue. Shadowmere drinks happily from the icy lake while Lucien searches for a sack hidden in the marshland shrubs near the bridge. A sigh of relief escapes his lips, as he realises that Bellamont has not picked up his next order yet.

There are still a couple of hours left before dawn, and Antoinetta has yet to be told about the outcome of the meeting at Ungolim's place and the unexpected survival of Vicente. Lucien has kept mostly to himself during the ride, thinking through their next moves in light of the information he gained from Banus, leaving Antoinetta and Shadowmere to watch out for any danger on the road. Since Bellamont's next contract is in Skingrad, it makes sense that they should head to Chorrol. If he manages to fulfil his contract on this night, he will still have to come to the Old Bridge before heading to Skingrad. His arriving at the city earlier than Lucien and Antoinetta is, therefore, a remote possibility. If, however, he fails to fulfil his contract, it will enable them to observe him from the moment he completes the contract. There is also the possibility that Bellamont will altogether forego his duty as a Silencer, a scenario of which should be immediately reported to Ungolim.

During his silent musings, Lucien also thought of Vicente, mostly with a feeling of relief. He is, however, still unsure of how to interpret the vampire's unauthorised absence from the sanctuary. Since Arquen still lives, it is unlikely that he seeks to destroy those who ordered his sacrifice. However, Lucien cannot but share J'Ghasta's misgivings that Vicente seeks retribution of a sort. He suspects that his subsequent reunion with the vampire will not be entirely pleasant. Still, he needs able assassins under his command and will have to win back the loyalty of the Executioner.

Turning his attention to Antoinetta, Lucien notices how exhausted she looks. The poor thing must have waited for him in the cold over a good few hours, all due to the unforeseeable delay on his part. Thinking about it, he himself has not eaten anything of substance since noon. Though he is eager to get to Chorrol, he has no wish to wear Antoinetta out even before they catch sight of the suspect. If his memory serves him right, there should be a small cave within walking distance. It is too small to make an open fire, but will protect them from the bitter winds while they recover from their relentless ride and grab a bite to eat.

The cave is pretty useless as a permanent nest for any creatures except slaughterfish and mud crabs. Its long and narrow tunnel has a downward slope, which begins to fill up with a pool of water before ten long strides from the entrance. The ground is far too uneven for a sitting, so they choose to stand side by side while sharing a loaf of bread and a bottle of Restore Fatigue potion.

"There is a dark elf traveller named Ulen Arenim who spends a few weeks a year in Chorrol. He is the one that Bellamont should be after," Lucien informs, seeing Antoinetta finish the last drop of the potion. He does not want to diverge important information on horseback; he needs her to concentrate fully. Antoinetta turns her face towards him, her expression that of rapt attention, and silently urges him to continue. "When we arrive at the town, I need you to find out whether he still lives and where he stays. After that, go to the North Country Stables and ask for Bongond who will instruct you where to find me."

"Do you also wish me to make enquiries as to whether anyone else was looking for Ulen Arenim?" she asks after thoughtfully digesting his instructions.

"That will be most helpful," Lucien replies with an approving smile. Antoinetta is certainly cleverer than she looks, which makes her ideal for the task ahead. "Is there anything else you wish to know?"

"Does Bellamont possess any weakness, Speaker?"

Lucien is surprised to find hunger in her eyes. She is no match for Bellamont in close combat and is shrewd enough to know it. Nevertheless, she seeks out ways of turning the odds around in her favour. Lucien is almost tempted to entrust her with the task of ending Bellamont's life if the need arises. Unfortunately, this is one mission with which the Brotherhood cannot afford failure.

"He is highly skilled in illusion. He is, however, not renowned for his talents in any other area of magic. It is doubtful that he will make use of Dispell Other spell. Even if he does, the life detecting power of the enchanted ring I gave you is immune to the spell. You should not have a problem following him."

Antoinetta nods, trying desperately not to show her disappointment. Her Speaker does not expect her to do more than distracting Bellamont in case he discovers that he has been observed. She knows it is a realistic estimate of her abilities. Still, she cannot help but feel that she is letting herself down; she is missing out on an opportunity to get closer to Lucien.

The Imperial of course notices her unhappiness, but chooses to ignore it. He is gripped by curiosity for her sudden ambition. This, after all, was a girl whose highest aspiration was to become a mistress of a Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Even then, it was no secret that she wanted the position only because she believed Lucien communicated with Ocheeva more frequently than with anyone else in the sanctuary.

"Why do you desire to end the traitor's life by your own hands? Is it to satisfy your hunger for a challenging kill? Is it to avenge the death of your family?" Lucien probes, placing her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifting it up with gentle force.

There is no point in lying, so she doesn't even try.

"I merely long to serve you better, Speaker. I will make myself invisible to him as long as you wish me to."

Lucien smiles warmly. The way she tries to maintain her dignity while practically confessing her hopeless devotion and longing pleases and touches him. Satisfied, he caresses her cheek with the back of his gloved hand before leading her into the open air, where Shadowmere eagerly greets them.

"No triumph is too small, Antoinetta," Lucien tells her as though an after-thought. "If, however, circumstances warrant a confrontation, remember this. Insignificance is another form of invisibility. Strike only when you can still surprise your opponent."


	13. Chapter 13

A.N. A big Thank you to all those who have been reading and reviewing. Especially to L'Ankou, who went through eight chapters in one sitting and reviewed them all. Love your work and presence in the site, girl. *hugs* I'm sorry that there will be no J'Ghasta in this chapter, when you get a chance to read this. I promise he will appear in the next one, along with Vicente.

Hi antihero. :) Thank you for the kind review as always, and I'm glad that you agree with the necessity of having Bellamont around. :D I've managed to keep Lucien and Antoinetta together in this chapter as well. Hopefully, you will still like seeing them together.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Patience has its own rewards.

In Bellamont's case, it is the only virtue he has perfected. Even he, however, could not foresee just how richly he was going to be rewarded on this occasion. He waited in the hallway at least an hour after Uvani retired to his room, just to make sure his target was sleeping deeply. The kill was easy, silent and pleasant. However, it was his search of the dead Dunmer's belongings that proved to be most satisfying.

Normally, he would not have wasted his time around his fallen victim, searching for something of interest. It was hard to miss the quill and a bottle of ink on the desk, with a fresh wax strain on the surface. The Dunmer was likely to be a high-ranking member of the Black Hand. That is why Bellamont took his time in going through the possessions of the dead mer, putting aside his anxiety to leave the scene.

His reward lay in the form of a sealed letter, deep inside a travel bag, carefully hidden inside a folded garment. It was addressed to none other than the Listener himself, detailing the reports of a completed contract. With a grin that stretches from ear to ear, Bellamont considers the pleasant implications.

He has just slain Alval Uvani.

Apart from the obvious fact that he is a step closer from annihilating the Black Hand, this fortunate coincidence should make even easier his task of framing Banus. Only the Speakers have access to highly sensitive information such as the movement of the Listener's Silencer. A black spider is what Bellamont has become, and he believes he can better even the Night Mother when it comes to spinning a web. It is obvious that luck is on his side.

Bellamont's good fortune does not stop at his holy kill, however. He leaves the town gate behind. As he hurries his steps towards the Wildeye Stables, he spots a figure jumping off a black steed, a figure clad in black from head to toe. The voice that gives a few instructions to the Imperial stable hand is female and that of Altmer. He needs not seek out Arquen. He only needs to follow her and wait till she attempts to communicate with others.

The Nine must be smiling at him, though nineteen years too late.

* * *

The winter sun shines high above as Antoinetta makes her way to a farmhouse not far from the North Country Stables. She has emptied all of the fatigue restoring potions Lucien gave her to remain alert while carrying out her investigative work. The lack of proper rest is however catching up with her, and the thought of sleep is almost as inviting as that of beholding the proud face of her Speaker.

The thought of sleep, however, leaves her as soon as she opens the front door. The enticing smell of crab stew fills her nostril, the pleasing aroma of butter and leak lingering in the air. The door directly leads to the dining section of a large open space, roughly divided by low partition walls. A circular dining table is positioned in the middle, in front of open fire surrounded by a stone hearth. Lucien greets her from the table, motioning her to the chair opposite.

With a thatched roof and sand stonewalls, the house is well insulated, making the small fire place sufficient to warm the whole space. Antoinetta feels her natural colourings return to her cheeks. She is grateful Lucien rented out the place for their temporary accommodation. She eagerly seats herself and helps herself to the warm stew, golden crust of bread sprinkled on top with black pepper corn. It is delicious as she expected; Lucien is an exceedingly talented alchemist, and alchemists have a good grasp of how to mix ingredients together.

Through the corner of her eyes, she can see the alchemy equipment displayed on the writing desk in the far corner to her left side. _So, that's what this extravagant treat was about._ She thinks with a sly grin. Her Speaker probably didn't want to waste ingredients for his potions. Instead he put them to good use.

"Does Ulen Arenim still live?" Lucien asks, halfway though the meal. He already knows Bellamont has not been to Chorrol, which means the elf in question is more than likely to be alive. Bongond informed him that there was no black steed trusted to the care of his stable that week. His Shadowmere is probably the only horse that can look after itself in the wild. It helps him considerably that the mare does not have to be stabled.

"He still lives, Speaker. I was told that he spent most of his day in The Oak and Crosier, socialising and drinking. Apparently, he leaves the place around midnight and rests in his home till early morning," Antoinetta gives a brief account of her findings and waits for his questions.

"Does he have a family living with him?"

"He is married, but he only returns to his home when his wife is away, visiting her parents. The rumours are that they cannot tolerate each other. It seems that they found an amiable solution to their marital conflicts. She will be returning within a week, so he is scheduled to leave Chorrol in four days."

Lucien nods and asks the location of Ulen Arenim's private house, which according to Antoinetta is within ten minutes' walking distance from the Great Oak, a much-celebrated tree in the town.

"It doesn't seem that there was anyone else from outside Chorrol who showed interests in the dark elf," she concludes as she looks up at her Speaker.

"You did well." Lucien acknowledges her efforts, which causes Antoinetta to beam with pride. "Now tend to your meal. You will need a decent sleep after that."

Antoinetta turns her attention back to her stew, eager to consume it before it gets cold. When she is done, she murmurs her thanks and complements the cook.

"It was almost perfect, Speaker."

"Almost?" Lucien raises a questioning eyebrow, his tone that of amusement. He has been told about Antoinetta's experimental cooking, mostly in the form of Vicente's complaints. "You believe you could have done better?"

"I do, Speaker," Antoinetta replies playfully. "I believe garlic would have improved it even further."

Lucien smiles wryly. Perhaps it is time that Antoinetta should be informed about one of her Brothers' rather unexpected survival. A topic they need to discuss, though he hoped to delay it as long as he could.

"How did you get on with Vicente?" _Not that well_. Lucien knows, but the question is a suitable opening for the matter at hand.

Antoinetta looks surprised. Apart from the one moment of weakness in the cave, Lucien has been carefully avoiding any conversation that could lead to her life in the sanctuary. There was of course their short discussion regarding Bellamont, which inevitably brought up her adopted family. It was, however, necessary for their current mission. Perhaps he believes she has grown strong enough since the event that nearly shattered her spirit beyond any hope of recovery? Only Lucien made such a revival possible because he was the only one who could break her.

"I loved him as one of my Brothers because you told me to," she replies, her tone somewhat light-hearted but sincere nevertheless. She realises grimly that her love of the family was merely an extension of her love for Lucien. While it was true, it was by no means overwhelming. She would have done exactly what Leonia did, had Lucien asked her to carry out the purification. She would have wept bitterly only for Telaedril.

"Then, you are happy that he still lives?"

"He does, Speaker? How?"

In her astonishment, Antoinetta nearly forgets she is supposed to answer Lucien's question before coming up with her own. Then, she remembers, considers the implications and cautiously adds.

"I reserve my happiness till such time that it coincides with yours."

_Clever girl,_ the Imperial reflects with approval. She seems to know instinctively how to endear herself to him. It surprises him just how much Antoinetta has been in tune with his thoughts and feelings, which are almost impossible to detect unless he lets his guard drop. Lucien relays Arquen's report to the eager ears of Antoinetta, genuinely curious as to what she will make of the unforeseen event.

"It seems rather strange that Speaker Arquen did not report any interaction between herself and Vicente. There must be a reason for him to let her find out about his survival. If he had wanted to play dead as he perhaps originally had intended, he would have slipped out of the sanctuary quietly," Antoinetta states after a while. "He must be up to something. I fear that Speaker Arquen's silence on their communication does not bode well for his motives. Neither is his disappearance."

"If he seeks retribution against the Hand, what kind of recompense will he consider fitting? I do not believe he intends to violate the Tenets."

Lucien asks more to himself than to his companion. Antoinetta is, however, not one to miss her chance to contribute to a discussion even when asked half-heartedly. In this case, she knows her insight should prove useful. She did drive Vicente mad quite a few times and learned what came to the vampire's mind when angered. They had their … differences.

"He did threaten me a few times that he could drain blood from me without breaking the Tenets," Antoinetta replies with a stifled laugh. Of course, it was an empty threat. He would have hated tasting her blood, knowing garlic is on the menu of her staple diet.

_Vampire, retribution without causing death, ignorance, sin, retribution, vampire, blood. _

A series of concepts quickly runs through Lucien's mind, and finally he smiles with understanding. It all makes perfect sense now. He couldn't give too much thought on Vicente's course of action, but hated not being able to think one step ahead of the vampire.

Lucien only hopes Vicente is going to be discreet in his attempt to achieve his objective. He would hate it if a charge of insubordination were leveled against his most skilled assassin.


	14. Chapter 14

A.N. The first sector is tad morbid. I hope the dream scene isn't too disagreeable. It is a part of Lucien's speech about the Night Mother that gave me the idea for the scene. A big thank you to all those who have been following this fic and took their time to post a review. :)

Hello again antihero. Thank you for your continuing support. ^_^ And yes, we will have Vicente in this chapter. Sorry about not having enough of Lucien and Antoinetta though. The plot needed to go forward. :(

Hello Poppy. I was happy to have your feedback again. Such a kind one, too. :) I don't think my writing style suits something like Oblivion fan fics, where people probably expect to see more actions. But the character Lucien Lachance inspires me too much to leave him alone to the capable hands of others. So, thank you for all the encouragement. ^_^

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

_A woman shrouded in a dark cloak, whose face even Lucien's night-eye spell fails to make out, is seated on a black marble throne in front of him. Lucien kneels down and watches her opening the cloak just enough to reveal her snow white breasts. The colour of her nipples is ebony, in sharp contrast to the colour of her skin. Still kneeling down, his mouth greedily seeks and finds the comfort of the mysterious woman's love. _

_Lucien nibbles and suckles the nipples in turn like a child craving for a mother's milk, sensing her smile above him. It is not kind, but it comforts nevertheless. As feelings of contentment warm his veins, he tastes something metallic in his mouth. Blood pours out from her nipples, crimson red filling his vision, as he withdraws from her breasts. Soft laughter follows, and with a gentle touch of her icy hand on his head, she dissolves into the darkness, where Lucien cannot follow._

The hour glass Lucien placed at the bed side table informs him that it is now late evening. Antoinetta still sleeps deeply, next to him, with one arm thrown across his chest. Since it is highly unlikely that Bellamont will attempt to fulfill his contract while his target is surrounded by locals, Lucien decides to let her indulge in her blissful sleep though he is unsettled by the same dream that used to haunt him. He always dreamt it before the Hand found out the traitor had struck again. It became a habit of anticipating bad news and being denied the pleasure of finding that the recurring nightmare meant nothing.

Nightmare? Can he really call that a nightmare? The message was disturbing, but the way the Night Mother communicated it was almost pleasant, albeit somewhat morbid, which is why he believes the dream was the work of their Unholy Matron. Her love is like none other; he thirsts for it and dreads it at the same time. All the same, she has his respect and devotion. She always has had ever since he joined the Brotherhood.

Lucien's thoughts move away from his Lady to her message, and his mood grows darker. The traitor is moving faster than he thought. He does not know exactly who fell victim to the slimy mole but fears it was a member of the Black Hand. If Bellamont does not turn up in Chorrol soon, he will have to rethink the whole strategy. If only he can be certain it is indeed Bellamont. Every instinct inside him says it is, but then Banus and Arquen could have argued just as easily that their instincts told them Lucien Lachance was the traitor. He cannot eliminate the Breton assassin without some kind of concrete evidence, even if it were a mere observation.

Antoinetta stirs slightly and murmurs in her sleep. "Lucien."

The Imperial turns to the side and sees her smiling. Whatever dream she is having, her look says it is a pleasant one. Antoinetta's nature is optimistic, and her sleep seems to be trouble free. He smiles at how sweet his own name sounds, when coming through her lips. Perhaps he should let her know that it doesn't really matter how she addresses him. What truly matters is her willingness to serve him. After all, Vicente has always called him Lucien. Perhaps one day he will tell her. When he assumes his normal responsibilities.

* * *

J'Ghasta's cheerful face falls as soon as Ungolim opens the door. His trip to Leyawiin has been satisfactory. Not only did he draw one of his most profitable contracts but also he secured two files of valuable potion that would render the drinker immune to magic for an entire week. However, the look on Ungolim's face tells him that something has gone wrong yet again. This time, it seems more than the usual bad news that the Brotherhood is used to. The Listener looks suddenly aged and very ill. His stare has lost its usual sharpness and definition.

"Forgive me. Friend," Ungolim finally speaks after staring into the dying fire for some time. He has not even offered his subordinate a seat, let alone a drink. "I received a letter from Belisaruis in Bruma. We have lost another Hand member."

J'Ghasta's heart sinks as he fears for the safety of his Silencer. Then, he realizes Havilstein's demise could not have caused Ungolim the type of distress he observed. It must have been someone much closer to the Listener.

"I am grieved for the loss, esteemed Listener," the Khajiit says solemnly, resisting the urge to place a hand over Ungolim's arm. Such an act of familiarity will not be looked upon kindly even in situations like this.

Ungolim nods and directs J'Ghasta to a wooden chair in front of the dining table. His personal grief must remain personal. It is what the Night Mother would expect of him. She offered no condolence though she must have known Uvani's death well before Ungolim.

_The poisonous snake bit again. Fear not. Follow your convictions to the end, and I will watch over your course of action with a smile._

She has warned him about another casualty of the Black Hand. Though he was disturbed by yet another loss, he was also relieved by the words of encouragement, by the fact that she did not treat the death as yet another sign of her children's incompetence.

That was until he found out just who had met the untimely death at the hands of the conspirator. He was appalled and enraged at first. Then the grief set in, and the self-reproach with it. There was no reason why his Silencer should have been in Bruma at that time except for a single cautionary measure that he himself introduced. He switched Uvani's contract schedule around so that no one in the Hand except himself should know the exact whereabouts of his Silencer.

"Uvani has served Sithis well. My grief is not for him. It is for the Brotherhood. He will be solely missed."

The Khajiit Speaker knows better than contradicting his superior. He is not there to offer comfort, so he says nothing of his observation and waits for Ungolim to continue. The Listener does not disappoint. When he speaks again, he does so as the head of the Black Hand, eyes hard and mouth set resolute.

"I have also received a message from Lachance. Bellamont has not been to Chorrol yet, which further deepens my misgivings about the Breton. We will give him one more day. If he still neglects his duties as a Silencer, I will have to order his execution without obtaining the evidence of treachery first."

J'Ghasta does not object. With Uvani's death, a prompt response becomes their priority, and the Black Hand have been more than patient in their dealings with their primary suspect.

* * *

Vicente struggles against the chair to which he is tightly bound, trying in vain to free his limbs and fighting the throbbing headache. He isn't sure how long he has been unconscious, but the daylight seeping through a small opaque window in the otherwise dark room tells him at least hours have passed since …

After the disappointment in Bruma, things seemed to be going favourably in Bravil. Not a soul seemed to stir when his agile form slipped through a window into Ungolim's residence. The custom Hunters' Sight spell assured him that his target was in the upstairs bedroom, alone and tucked in bed. He was moving towards the sleeping figure when something blunt hit the back of his head. Then, everything went black.

There was a third figure in the room, he reflects bitterly. Someone whose presence his spell failed to detect. They were ready for his arrival. He should have suspected something like this. He should have known that the underhanded Altmer would go against her words and inform the Black Hand. "Arquen," he growls, the futility of his struggle turning into fury.

"She is not at fault for your plight. It is her duty to report significant happenings in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary," comes a voice from the doorway, its tone with measured calmness. A pause. Then, with the barest hint of warmth, the voice continues. "We have been waiting for you, Vicente Valtieri."

The vampire looks up at the figure that just entered the room, scanning the face of his one time pupil, now his superior. As for the Khajiit that stands slightly behind Ungolim, Vicente simply chooses to ignore him.

"We have no idea how you secured this statement from Arquen," says J'Ghasta, the amusement apparent in his voice flatly contradicting his claim of ignorance. There is only one explanation for such an uncharacteristic piece of writing. The Khajiit holds the piece of paper directly in front of Vicente's face for a few moments before tossing it onto the vampire's lap. "It may be better if you keep this. She would certainly attempt to kill you, were she to find out that we had read the writing."

Vicente's thin lips twitch upwards. He may have been caught in the act, but he still holds an ace card, the information that the Black Hand desperately needs.

"What is your business here, Executioner?" Ungolim asks, deliberately invoking the rank. He has much respect for the assassin. Still, it does not change the fact that Vicente has turned into a rebellious subordinate, who needs to be brought back under control.

"Your audience, dear Listener. I seek recompense for my grievance, as it was caused by the incompetence of the Hand."

"You put your private agenda before the need of the Brotherhood?" Ungolim counters, his tone intentionally harsh. _You have no idea, Brother. You do not realise how relieved I was that you lived._

"The brotherhood can only thrive when the subordinates are willing. I merely wish my loyalty to be restored," Vicente replies, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"What is it that you seek from us?" Ungolim probes further, raising his hand to stop J'Ghasta from uttering a cry of outrage.

"A pint of blood from yourself and your Speakers."

"And how would you prove your loyalty and devotion afterwards?"

"I will give you the name of the traitor once I am compensated."

"You shall have it. You will also have your ultimate protection from Arquen's rage," Ungolim concludes, much to J'Ghasta's dismay. "However, you will give the name of the traitor first. Otherwise, there will be no more negotiation in this matter."


	15. Chapter 15

A.N. I cannot believe this fic is still going, when it was originally intended to be a short fic (six to seven chapters, at most). I just hope it's not going to be longer than it should be. A big Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. :)

Hi Poppy. ^_^ I really didn't expect you to review chapter fourteen, since I knew that it was impossible to review for a few days sometime after I posted the previous chapter. I was so happy to learn that you liked the dream scene. And no, you are definitely not morbid. Because if you are, I dread to think what that makes me. :) Thank you for your feedback and support!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

The scene is much like that of the home life Antoinetta can only vaguely remember, a life when both her parents were alive. Candles burn brightly on various surfaces, casting warm shadows everywhere. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the air, and the place is clean without looking excessively tidy. At the dining table sits someone who is dear to her heart, someone whom she doesn't want to lose.

Of course there is a difference between the memories of childhood contentment and the feelings she savours at present. Back then, she didn't suspect that things perpetually changed, in the same way she never believed she would grow old and die like everyone else. Now she knows full well that a sense of security is only illusive when it comes to her life and that of her beloved Speaker. The paths they have chosen make that truth closer to home for them than for others, save their targets of course. Even then, there will come a day when the prey outlives the predator. Never mind the conspirator. Their lives are woven with danger, regardless of the enemy within.

There isn't going to be a marriage or their own family. No little Luciens or Antoinettas running about and causing the usual family havoc. That, however, means that she will always remain valuable to him. Idle scenes like her speaking with Lucien over a dinner table are not going to repeat themselves too often. She knows that she will see less of him when the traitor is no more. He will send her away often enough, and she will come back to him and become dearer to him that little bit more each time.

If Lucien is disappointed about not finding Bellamont so far, he hides it well. He listens to Antoinetta's account of her past contracts and throws dutiful comments now and then. He does not, however, fully concentrate on the conversation, and Antoinetta senses this, too. She has a feeling that Lucien did not really expect to locate Bellamont on the previous night. She figures that he doesn't believe they will find the suspect in Chorrol, though they will be following and watching Ulen Arenim like they did last night. More accurately, she will be observing Ulen Arenim while Lucien watches how she carries out her task. The way he frequently glances at the door, however, suggests that their plan may well change. He seems to be waiting for someone, for a message of sort.

"Do we have any back-up plan, Speaker?"

Lucien's half attention turns into full concentration.

"Just in case Bellamont does not show," Antoinetta elaborates. As much as she wishes their mission lasts for sometime to come and realises with slight alarm that she stopped hating the slippery traitor, she understands well the urgency of catching up with the prime suspect.

"We will have to trace him from the scene of the latest casualty," Lucien replies. "Stables are a good place to make an enquiry, and you know the advantage of consulting with beggars and publicans. Now we realise that the traitor is a member of the Black Hand, the horse he uses will be a black steed. Others use that type of horse, too, but they are rare."

"The stable hands will be likely to remember the appearance of someone who entrusted them with such rare breeds," Antoinetta muses.

"Quite. However, what we are looking for is the contrary phenomenon. Bellamont is highly skilled in illusion magic. The stable hands will have difficulty remembering what the owner of the steed looks like."

"From there, we ride to the nearest city to find out whether and when Bellamont used another stable? Is that how we track the suspect?"

"More or less," Lucien replies. "If we know the time he left a particular town, we can also consult locals and Imperial guards outside the city regarding the direction he took. We are of course somewhat disadvantaged when resorting to this method. We will be trailing behind the perpetrator for some time. We will, however, catch the suspect eventually since he will have to spend time stalking his victims and waiting for the right time to strike. I could have proposed this scheme from the beginning. However, some time has passed since the traitor struck last time, and most people's memories become unreliable with time. There was also the danger of the Brotherhood losing more members in the mean time, and with each death, the likelihood of the Black Hand turning against me would have increased, too."

Antoinetta turns her face away to hide the horror at the disturbing image, despite the almost bored tone Lucien employed while describing his delicate position within the Brotherhood. He smiles at the response, and idly ponders how she would react if others convinced her of his supposed guilt.

Even the brilliant Lucien Lachance is not free from the human fallacy to pose questions that have no answer. At least, though, he has enough sense not to ask it aloud. Most people do not know themselves enough to give accurate predictions of their behaviour in extreme circumstances. Even if they possess such knowledge, some things are better to be left in the dark.

"Things will not come to that, Antoinetta. We may have to wait for Bellamont's appearance a while longer. We may not if the Black Hand loses another member. In the case of the latter, Bellamont's position rather than mine becomes precarious. He will not be able to explain his neglect of duties."

Lucien is certain that the Hand lost another member. No one, however, will learn how he came to such a conclusion. Certainly not the Black Hand. Especially not the Black Hand. And not even Antoinetta.

Antoinetta smiles at the assurance. It occurs to her that she doesn't particularly care whether the Black Hand loses another member or not. Lucien has not told her that she should love them as a family. It bothers her not that her loyalty to Lucien takes precedence over her loyalty to the Brotherhood as a whole. She will not however reveal such contemplations to him. He will probably feel that he should scold her on hearing such a confession. For no part of Lucien is entirely free from the position that became his identity, a Speaker of the Black Hand. She merely asks whether they are to repeat last night's routine.

As soon as she finishes the question, a sound of gentle tapping at the door interrupts the peaceful evening. Lucien rises quickly from his seat and whispers _Perhaps not_ as he passes her. He looks back at her before reaching the door and answers it only after Antoinetta makes herself invisible.

"Bad news," J'Ghasta announces grimly as he enters the farmhouse. "We lost Uvani."

"Uvani? How?" Lucien is surprised on two accounts. How did the traitor find the elusive Listener's Silencer? How did he beat the master of destruction magic? Surely, Bellamont could not be that strong.

"We have no idea how Bellamont located Uvani. All we know is our unfortunate friend was slain during his sleep."

Lucien mulls over the Khajiit's words. Did he just say it was Bellamont who killed Uvani? Though that is more or less what he believes too, J'Ghasta would not have said it that way without evidence.

"Vicente told us that he heard Bellamont gloating at your ... departed assassins after purification," J'Ghasta explains. "We are at last certain that Bellamont is the traitor, and Ungolim dispatched messengers to Banus and Arquen without further delay. Vicente will assist Ungolim till the crisis is over."

Lucien wonders why there is a sense of disdain every time J'Ghasta pronounces Vicente's name. Did the vampire make the Black Hand pay for the information?

"We will now take our leave, if you and Antoinetta are both ready."

As J'Ghasta continues to talk about his plan to track down Bellamont, Antoinetta's heart sinks. A powerful ally does not compensate for the realisation that her somewhat surreal time with Lucien is suddenly over.

* * *

After a great deal of tossing and turning, Arquen only manages a couple of hours' sleep when Shaleez brings a letter into her chamber, another letter from the _esteemed_ Listener. Her Silencer's excessive loyalty irritates her; surely, a letter like that can wait till she is well rested.

"Is the messenger still here?" She asks without leaving the bed, her tone somewhat touchy despite her best efforts not to show her annoyance.

"No Speaker, he left immediately after delivering the letter."

Arquen nods and dismisses Shaleez, telling the Argonian not to disturb her again. She tosses it onto the bedside table and tries to get back to her precious sleep, once the door is shut.

Her dark mood fails to lift as sleep once again evades her, the image of the hateful vampire looming large in her troubled mind. Hours pass before it occurs to her that the communication from Ungolim may contain welcoming news, the news of the vampire's demise. A quarrel that breaks out in the hall, however, deters her from satisfying her curiosity with immediate effect.

"I told you that you must wait, Brother. Speaker Arquen cannot see you now."

"This is urgent, Sister. I have no time to lose."

Bellamont notices the way Shaleez's hand is close to the hilt of her enchanted sword. She is wary of him, or perhaps she is wary of any Black Hand member. He would be only too glad to confirm her suspicion, should they meet in any other circumstances. She will be gone soon enough, along with Arquen. He has seen a Black Hand courier renting a room in _Newlands Lodge_. There is no need to keep them alive except for the fact that he must learn what happened to Lachance. Why is he no longer in charge of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary? The thought of Lachance being killed during a contract is too disappointing even to contemplate.

"Do you have a message from Banus?" Arquen speaks from the doorway. Though her thoughts were mostly occupied with Vicente Valtieri, she has not forgotten about Lachance. Banus must have kept an eye on the traitor's moves, seeing as Ungolim lacks the sense to do so.

"I have indeed, Speaker Arquen."

"Well?"

"The matter is confidential," replies Bellamont, throwing a glance in Shaleez's direction.

Arquen gestures him to follow her into her chamber and closes the door behind them. Bellamont, however, knows Shaleez will not stay far from the door. His execution of Arquen will have to be swift.

"I also need to deliver a letter to Speaker Lachance. Do you happen to know where I can find him?" the Breton enquires, taking a forged letter out from a satchel, a safety measure just in case his attempt fails. If it succeeds, he will draw great pleasure from the fact that Arquen will die, believing she has been betrayed by the Brother she trusts. Either way, he cannot lose.


	16. Chapter 16

A.N. A big _Thank You_, as always, to those who have stayed with and supported this story. Please continue to read and review. It means a lot to me.

Hi antihero. :) Thank you for the kind feedback. I'm happy that you are still reading and like what you are reading. Hopefully, you will enjoy this chapter. ^_^

Hi Poppy. I've always suspected that you must be a good writer. ^_^ So, yes, I'm all for you writing your own fanfic. If you ever want someone to discuss the details with, please send me an email. You can access it from my profile page. You have been always kind and encouraging. Thank you for your support. :)

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Arquen's eyes narrow with annoyance. The useless excuse of a mer by the name of Banus expects her to have followed the track of Lachance? There is no urgent business that justifies Bellamont's insistence on seeing her at inconvenient hours, except matters concerning either Vicente Valtieri or Lucien Lachance. It is now pretty obvious to her that Banus has nothing to say about the traitor's activities. What a waste of her valuable time!

"Tell your Speaker that I have no better idea than he as to when Speaker Lachance will resume his duty. Now, the message? It better be urgent as you say."

Bellamont's steely eyes show no sign of his relief at the discovery that Lachance is still alive. It should be his privilege to be the cause of the Imperial's demise. He will not be denied the sweet occasion to witness the last breath of his enemy and laugh at the corpse.

"Resume his duty, did you say?"

Arquen suppresses the urge to snatch Banus' letter from Bellamont and send him away. One never knows when a Silencer may become a Speaker.

"Why, of course. Did your Speaker not tell you that Speaker Lachance is after Antoinetta Marie, who survived the purification? Hand me the letter, Brother. I must really get back to my work."

Since Arquen elaborates no more, Bellamont deduces that Lachance is going to finish off the purification process that his Silencer failed to complete. That means Lachance should be back at his main residence soon enough. With a sublime smile, Bellamont finally hands the forged letter to Arquen. It is rather a pity that he cannot observe the horror on her face long enough. With his recent good fortune, however, he feels generous enough not to dwell on the minor parameters.

Unfortunately for Bellamont, Arquen does not immediately proceed to read the letter. She throws it onto the nearby desk and tells him to wait outside. Bellamont's protest is quickly silenced by an icy stare. Knowing Shaleez is probably watching them through a keyhole, he cannot afford attacking Arquen when her attention is not elsewhere. Grudgingly, he revises his strategy. He will have to deal with the Argonian Silencer first. This is going to be a bit more work than he first imagined.

Having made Bellamont wait in the hall, Arquen opens Ungolim's sealed letter first, hoping and not quite believing that the incompetent Listener has dealt with the vile vampire. No such luck. Worse, it identifies Bellamont as a traitor and based on what? Words of a vengeful vampire is what. She shakes her head, scoffing at the absurd conclusion. Still, an order is an order, and she will earn the gratitude of the Black Hand, even if it is going to be temporary as the real traitor is going to strike yet again.

Arquen reaches for another letter, forming a strategy to execute Bellamont. She will pretend to give him her answer to Banus' message and immobilise him before cutting his throat. It shouldn't be too difficult.

Arquen grimaces at the first line of the letter. That imbecile does not even have the intelligence to give her the letter intended for her! How likely is it that he is the traitor? The second line, however, quickly captures her interest.

_Silencer,_

_It is with utmost regret that I must call upon you for your help in removing the threat that is eating away at the very core of the Dark Brotherhood. You see, the purification of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary did not accomplish its desired goal. The Night Mother informs our esteemed Listener that the traitor still lives and that s/he is a member of the Black Hand. He has therefore ordered the sacrifice of the following Black Hand members. And you, my bloodthirsty Silencer, will carry out the killing. _

_Alval Uvani, Arquen, Lucien Lachance, J'Ghasta, Shaleez and Havilstein Hoar-Blood. _

_You will find Alval Uvani in Bruma if you reach the town by this Morndas. He will be staying in Olav's Tap and Tack during the night. Arquen can be found in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Beware. Her Silencer, Shaleez, is a vicious psychopath._

_Good luck. When you manage to execute all your targets, return to the Anvil Sanctuary and wait for a further instruction. Do not seek me out before._

A triumphant smile spreads through her golden complexion. She has obtained the true evidence of the traitor. The handwriting is definitely that of Banus. That mole thought his fool Silencer could beat her? She will teach him a lesson he would take to the Void with him. Vicente's lies will be the vile creature's undoing, too. Jeopardising the safety of the Black Hand for a personal vendetta. He is as good as dead. What a treasure this letter turns out to be.

Arquen approaches the door with a cat-like stride, her enchanted dagger unsheathed and held firm in her right hand. Bellamont's intention is clear and must be dealt with. He will know Arquen's understanding of his reasons for the visit.

With one smooth swing, the door opens wide. The sound of the door opening distracts Shaleez no longer than a few seconds, but a few seconds is all that Bellamont needs. When she turns her gaze back to Bellamont, he is no longer where he stood. In fact, he has disappeared from her view altogether. By the time she casts the Detect Life spell and draws her shortsword, Bellamont is directly behind her. The Argonian falls to the ground, her eyes still wide-open, though no longer darting back and forth, before it ever registers to her that his blade pierced through her heart. If she had managed to dodge and survive the attack, she would have seen Arquen's dagger flying through the air towards Bellamont's right arm and finding its way deep into the flesh.

* * *

It is nearly dawn when Lucien and his companions arrive at the small village near the junction of the Orange Road and the Silver Road, south of Bruma, where the ground is covered thick with fresh snow.

"Snow, assassin's worst enemy," Lucien dryly comments on the brilliantly gleaming landscape. Even competent users of Illusion magic would struggle to disguise their own track completely from observant eyes.

"Now, that's not how a predator thinks," J'Ghasta replies, grinning at the memory of his last kill. There is nothing more beautiful than crimson blood spreading over and slipping into the sight of pure whiteness.

"You forget that Bellamont is also an assassin."

"Well, that's something we are going to put right. Preferably soon."

It is a strange experience for Antoinetta to see Lucien with his equal rather than with his subordinate. During the long journey, J'Ghasta and Lucien rarely spoke to each other until now since they left Chorrol, except while they briefly stopped near a small stream slightly off the main road to allow their horses a little rest. On the occasions they engaged in conversation, Antoinetta just felt hopelessly left out. No one really expected or wanted her participation. And from the way they conversed with each other, in low whispers and standing a safe distance away from her, she figured out that they did not desire her audience. So, she just did what she was supposed to do; she fixed her gaze on the road, not daring to throw glances at Lucien for fear that J'Ghasta could somehow read her mind. It was pretty difficult since Lucien looked very much desirable in his black and burgundy outfit.

Overall, though, the journey lifted up her somewhat dampened spirit. When half of her face was pressed firmly against his back and her arms were wrapped around his chest, it proved no challenge to fill her mind with agreeable thoughts and feelings. She thought of his words spoken to her, his caress, his weight and the feel of his hot breath on her lips. She also remembered all their times together. She remembered their first encounter, his elegant speech, his mischievous smile and the poised way he offered his hand with the promise of a new life. When she took that hand, she knew that there would be no going back and that he held the key to everything that she needed and desired.

Antoinetta notices that Lucien and J'Ghasta no longer insist on excluding her from their communication. Whatever Black Hand business they were discussing, it must have been out of the way by now. Though Lucien has been avoiding physical contacts with her unless necessary, she decides not to dwell on the sense of disappointment. She must put on a brave face and appear eager in the task at hand, helping the Black Hand remove a rotten apple among their midst. Her role in that mission is no longer essential, but it is a role nonetheless. Only Lucien's trust in her abilities can explain the fact that she is still involved in the mission. That thought is comforting enough to repress the growing feeling of uneasiness that he may desire her less.

To Antoinetta's relief, the small village has a traveller's accommodation. J'Ghasta secures a rectangular oak table in the corner of the tap room, away from the stone heath and bar while Lucien wakes up the inn keeper by shaking his shoulders none too gently and orders food and drink. After hesitating a little, Antoinetta chooses to sit on a wooden bench, opposite J'Ghasta, whose gaze is rather unnervingly attentive. She smiles at the Khajiit, not knowing what else she is supposed to do.

J'Ghasta returns her smile with a wide grin and purrs. "We have been neglecting you, Sister. Welcome to the Black Hand."

Antoinetta's face goes blank, not comprehending J'Ghasta's words. The Khajiit merely chuckles at her confused expression, seeing Lucien taking his place next to Antoinetta.

"J'Ghasta!" Lucien growls, not pleased with the way Antoinetta came to learn her new status in the Brotherhood.

Lucien wasn't going to promote her into his Silencer anytime soon. J'Ghasta, however, insisted that only the members of the Black Hand could partake in dealing with a traitor. Technically, the Khajiit was not wrong, especially when Lucien no longer needed Antoinetta to disguise his real business from the Black Hand. Nevertheless, he felt he at least owed it to Antoinetta that she should continue to play her role in eliminating the traitor.

"I wanted to tell her when I had her exclusive attention."

J'Ghasta scoffs. It's not as though the Imperial does not have Antoinetta's exclusive attention anyway. It's pretty obvious to him that she pays little attention to anyone else when Lucien is around. Nevertheless, he vacates the table and moves towards the bar area to supervise food and drink preparation. Lucien can be annoyingly particular about doing things his way.

"What Speaker J'Ghasta means is that you are now my Silencer," Lucien begins, turning slightly to the side to observe better Antoinetta's reaction.

Antoinetta nods, an unmistakable look of excitement spreading though her countenance, though still appearing slightly puzzled. She has been in the Dark Brotherhood long enough to know what the term Silencer means. The members of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary always knew more about the Black Hand business than the governing body wanted them to. Lucien's Silencer has been the one position she truly aspired to. If she told others that her ambition was to become a Sanctuary Mistress, it was simply because she didn't want to be laughed at for having such an untenable goal. The more she became infatuated with Lucien, the more impossible the objective appeared. She is therefore happy, deliriously so. But the announcement was so sudden and so unexpected. She begins to fear she may not keep the position for long.

"I have once told you that the Black Hand consisted of one Listener and four Speakers. What I did not tell you at the time was that the Hand employed additional members. These are Silencers, private assassins that assist each Speaker and the Listener in furthering the glory of our Dread Father. Invisible and deadly, they are the secret weapons of the Black Hand and true masters of Shadow. It is a prestigious position, only second to that of a Speaker and of course … a Listener. In return, a Silencer must forego the comfort of a Sanctuary life in order to serve his/her Speaker with utmost secrecy and efficiency. Do you believe you are worthy of the position?"

Antoinetta isn't sure whether she is ready, and Lucien's face offers no clue as to what kind of answer he is looking for. All she can think of is that she cannot let the opportunity slip by. Shaking off her apprehension, she gives her reply, her tone quiet but with firm determination.

"If you deem me worthy, I will strive to meet your expectation. I will serve you to the best of my abilities."

Lucien smiles warmly, taking away some of the lingering doubt in her mind. It will take more than her present abilities to fulfil her newly found duties. Given time, however, he is confident that she will become one of the best assassins. She has the aptitude and eagerness to learn and better herself.

"I believe promotion should be earned with hard work, Antoinetta. However, I am allowing an exception in your case. Yours is based on the promise of your talent and your desire to serve me well. It is therefore a provisional position. Within one year, you must prove to me that you are suited to the role."

There is of course no such thing as a temporary Silencer. Antoinetta will remain his Silencer regardless of her performance. She does not have to know it, however. It will give her incentives to learn more from Vicente, if she manages to keep good terms with the vampire. He will probably have to give the Executioner a tighter training schedule for Antoinetta just in case.

With a beaming smile, Antoinetta thanks her Speaker for the exceptional opportunity. All traces of apprehension have left her. The offer seems much more realistic now. Besides, she is sure she can avoid aggravating Vicente for just one year. She will beg if necessary to receive more thorough and advanced training from him. Nothing is too difficult for her if it means to remain near her Speaker, as near as he will permit. Only now she realises he took steps to make her closer to him during the time she feared he might be growing distant.


	17. Chapter 17

A.N. A big _Thank you_ to all those who made my days with their encouraging reviews. Honestly, this fic would never have seen Chapter Seventeen without your support. The plot would have been much simpler, and there would have been less Lucien-Antoinetta moments. Hopefully, you guys will stay with this fic till the end, which you probably all sense approaching.

Hi Antihero. :) Thank you for your kind feedback. Much appreciated. ^_^ Sorry for allowing Bellamont to go on for so long. I can only promise that he will never take Lucien down.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

It wasn't supposed to be like this. The forged letter was no more than security for an unlikely event. Bellamont wanted to get a few more Hand members out of the way before letting them believe that the Anvil Speaker was behind the treachery. He thought he could beat Arquen without much difficulty. Why couldn't he see she was going to use an enchanted dagger to practically disarm him? He could still smell burning flesh, his flesh. The damn Altmer had her dagger enchanted with Fire damage. Though Arquen pulled the dagger out from his arm after casting a Silence spell, she did not treat the damage. Neither did she treat the gaping wound on his side, which was inflicted with purposeful severity, just enough to debilitate him without ending his life altogether.

Bellamont grits his teeth and kneels down in front of the mer as instructed. There is no point in fighting her when his right arm is in a sorry mess and his vision is blurry with all the blood loss. The sooner he behaves like a good little subordinate, the quicker he will be able to fix his injuries. Opportunities will come later, especially as it looks like the forged letter fooled the high elf.

"I wish not to fight you, Brother," Arquen begins, her voice placid and calm. She is of course much annoyed about her Silencer's demise. But she needs the help of the Breton assassin, fool as he is. She cannot let Banus slip away while waiting for further instructions from the incompetent Listener. "You do not realise you have been the puppet of a traitor."

Bellamont of course shakes his head at the assessment. He knows it will look suspicious if he agrees with her all too easily. He squeezes out his objection between pain-induced, raspy hisses.

"Speaker Arquen. I do not believe … my Speaker will commit an act of … treachery. As a loyal daughter of the Night Mother, you must … freely offer your life to Sithis … as it is … the Listener's will … that the Black Hand be … purified."

"You fool!" Arquen barks, her calm composure gone. "You think the Listener would order the purification of the Black Hand? It was your death that he ordered. You impossible idiot!"

Bellamont's genuinely shocked expression brings a triumphant smile on Arquen's face. _Now, do you wish to offer your life to the whims of our revered Listener? Perhaps you are ready to listen, huh?_

"But why? … I am no … traitor," Bellamont protests. His voice comes out feeble and pathetic. His mind, however, is focused and clear, despite the pain and dizziness his body is going through. He cannot afford anything else. Arquen has not killed him yet. She has fallen for his trap. The important question is whether the rest of the Black Hand will believe him when they already found him guilty.

"What else do you expect when you have been doing the traitor's dirty work?" Arquen comments harshly. Then, she softens her tone. "Have you finally come to an understanding that Banus tricked you into spilling the blood of your kin for his own treacherous agenda?"

Bellamont nods, fearing that he will faint before long if his injuries are not attended to shortly.

"Please … tell me … how … I can … redeem … myself."

"Do I have your loyalty and co-operation?" Arquen asks, knowing that she has Bellamont exactly where she wants him.

With great difficulty, Bellamont mumbles his allegiance before unceremoniously collapsing onto the stone floor.

* * *

As soon as Antoinetta sees an Imperial man entering the taproom, she realises he is the very man they have been waiting for. The hunter's outfit, with a bow, arrows and all, suits his predatory appearance well. For an Imperial, he is slim-built and has a long thin face to match. His proud nose is, however, unmistakably that of a typical Imperial man. _A Silencer?_ Antoinetta ponders idly. Somehow, she feels threatened by his very presence, as the man looks every inch of a seasoned assassin.

The innkeeper has gone back to sleep, snoring merrily, and there is no other customer apart from the four assassins in the dim-lit taproom. Nevertheless, the conversation is carried out in a low whisper, and Antoinetta has to strain her ears to follow the exchange. Belisarius' findings take everyone by surprise. According to them, Bellamont not only managed to kill off Uvani but also found Arquen on the same night by what looks like …

_sheer luck_. So far, every move taken by the Black Hand somehow seems to have helped the traitor's cause. Lucien and J'Ghasta trade a grim expression, fearing that Arquen may already have fallen victim to Bellamont's scheme.

"There is a reason to believe that Speaker Arquen may still be safe," Belisarius continues, sensing the two Speakers' apprehension. "She rented a room in a tavern, not far from this one, on her way to Cheydinhal. I believe she left the place unharmed."

"How long did she stay there?" J'Ghasta enquires, rather puzzled that Bellamont did not take advantage of such a promising opportunity.

"A good several hours at least."

After a few moments of reflective silence, J'Ghasta decides to end the meeting.

"Do you have any questions, Lucien?"

"No, I believe we have delayed Belisarius long enough," Lucien replies and turns his attention back to J'Ghasta's trusted subordinate.

According to the Bruma Speaker, the Imperial assassin is eventual Speaker material, even though he himself prefers Havilstein as a Silencer. Hence the Black Hand has regarded Belisarius as the next Silencer in line. Had Leonia not been so exceptionally talented, he would have ended up serving Lucien. His rise in the ranks, however, is by no means conventional. There has never been a case of a living Silencer being replaced by another in the entire history of the Brotherhood. Ungolim, however, acted swiftly and decisively upon learning the identity of the traitor. As a result, Belisarius' promotion has been decided without the council or the consent of Banus.

Lucien is, however, struck by his irrational dislike of Banus' new Silencer. True, he has not warmed to Banus or Arquen. But that can be easily explained by their distrust of Lucien himself. Belisarius has done nothing to cause Lucien to feel weary of him. On the contrary, he has been quite helpful so far.

"Anvil is a long way. When are you leaving, Brother?" Lucien enquires without genuine interest, shaking off the inexplicable feelings.

"I have a few things to take care of in Bruma before my departure. I should be ready to leave by mid-afternoon. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Speaker Lachance."

"Likewise. Your promotion, I believe, has been overdue. You will be an asset to the Black Hand."

"What do you make out of him?" Lucien asks Antoinetta, as J'Ghasta follows Belisarius outside to see him off.

"He looks very much like a professional assassin," Antoinetta replies, feeling rather relieved about the other Silencer's early departure. "I would recognise him as such without being introduced."

"Do you believe that feature desirable?"

"I … I haven't thought about it. It must be, however, a reflection of his experiences."

Lucien ponders what goes through Antoinetta's mind. She looks rather unsure of herself since Belisarius' appearance. Perhaps, the enormity of her new position has finally hit home? While other Speakers would see such a display of insecurity as a sign of weakness, Lucien finds it as an endearing quality. She will grow under his wing and strive that much harder to meet his expectations.

Without words, he raises his hand and lets his palm lightly brush her cheek. That effortless gesture immediately restores her confident expression. It reminds her of the simple fact that she is still living her dream. She has yet to comprehend that she is already the dearest living thing to her Speaker. She is, however, well aware that he has already given a part of himself for her keep, a part that even he himself cannot claim back. For that part belongs to their shared memory and history. Antoinetta smiles brightly, savouring the feel on her cheek brought by the small contact. The smile deepens as Lucien's whisper completes the moment of sweet realisation.

"I have not chosen my Silencer idly."

* * *

There are scenes of carnage that offend even the professional assassins. Despite their love for shedding blood, assassins tend to be meticulously clean when it comes to ridding themselves of any trace that may link them to the crimes in which they indulged. None likes living amongst the products of their death craft. Faced with the decomposing corpses of men, mer and beasts strewn across the living space of the lighthouse cellar, the only word that comes to Banus' mind is …

_madness_. What kind of mind would enable the bearer to live with the stench that makes even regular breathing difficult? Either a mind completely shattered or a mind that is so focused and determined that can block out the constant assault on the normal functioning senses of a mortal. Maybe both.

It has taken a whole day and night's vigorous search to locate Bellamont's hideout. Any assassin of Banus not out on contract has been put to use for information gathering. Though no resident offered any useful information about the young Bellamont who was fleeing from the murder of his own father, hunting out the location has been more fruitful. Abandoned houses and various caves have been visited around Anvil, and all rented accommodations have been investigated. Finally, Banus came across what seemed certain to be Bellamont's private haven.

Making a conscious effort not to be affected by the nauseating smell that permeates the nightmarish place, Banus begins to grasp the psyche of someone who is capable of conjuring up a treacherous scheme against the Dark Brotherhood. It is pretty obvious that the insanity gnawing at the traitor's brain was the cause of it all. Perhaps, Bellamont hears voices in his head? That probably explains the decayed female head lovingly placed on the wooden table and surrounded by candles. Banus can imagine Bellamont lighting the candles and chanting his prayers to his Goddess. Maybe, the Goddess tells him to destroy the Night Mother and her children?

Banus turns and leaves the place. If madness is the root of the treachery, it is highly unlikely that Bellamont is working with any outside force in his endeavour to destroy the Brotherhood. That is a welcoming conclusion, even though the thought of having to describe all that he has witnessed sickens him to the core.


	18. Chapter 18

A.N. A big Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. ^_^ Just a little taste of smut in this chapter. I hold J'Ghasta fully responsible for Antoinetta's frustration. :D Hope it will still make an enjoyable read.

Note to Poppy: Hi Poppy. Thank you for the generous review. ^_^ It was so sweet and I was very happy to read it. Your writing is never difficult to read. In fact, I wasn't being polite when I said I suspected you were a good writer. Your writing has a crisp feel to it and you get your points across clearly. I would have never guessed English wasn't your first language. It isn't mine, either. But I've read enough to recognize a good writing when I see one. So, please tell me whatever comes to your mind if you happen to have time. I was really pleased when you said you liked Lucien's comforting whisper to Antoinetta. I was trying to show his affection towards Antoinetta through that. And I got it right with you. :) And yes, I will look forward to discussing your fic with you when you are ready.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Lucien's eyes snap open as the Night Mother's velvety laughter rings in his ears yet again. _'Who this time?'_ is the first thought that comes into his disorientated head. Was it Arquen or was it her Silencer? There is always a possibility that both fell at the hands of the conniving traitor. One thing is certain. The Black Hand lost another of its own. He isn't sure how many more they can afford losing. It usually takes longer than a decade for a gifted assassin to transform into a credible Speaker. Around half of that time will be spent performing duties as a Silencer. It took, however, less than a week for Bellamont to bring down at least two of the Hand members.

Yet, he has been taking a nap in a dingy little room in a filthy tavern? Any kind of rest short of downright necessity seems unwarranted when the traitor is still at large. Unfortunately, Lucien belatedly discovered that J'Ghasta could never be hurried beyond the pace he set himself. The Khajiit declared that he must absolutely have his precious nap, and that was the end of the matter. Only two hour's ride away from Cheydinhal, and they had to stop at an inn, which probably had never been visited by anyone with power and influence. Lucien wonders whether even the scenario of Bellamont breathing down his neck would deter the Khajiit from taking his _well-deserved_ rest.

The tavern had only one room available. That didn't put off J'Ghasta, who was happy taking his snooze behind the counter where the innkeeper usually lay during the night. Lucien didn't think he could get a catnap with Antoinetta's bedroll so close to his that he could hear her breathing. Surprisingly, however, he managed to fall asleep. They both did. The voices of need can be rather persuasive, often surpassing those of want. They understood that they would only sleep when J'Ghasta needed it till they caught up with Bellamont. Even so, they must have been more tired than they felt.

As his mind begins to take in the surroundings, he notices a delicate weight placed on his chest. Sometime during their sleep, Antoinetta's hand reached out to feel the comfort of his heartbeat. He finds that gesture rather moving. He has lost all his assassins except two, and Vicente probably feels no love for him after all that has happened. Antoinetta is the only soul who would ever mourn his passing to the Void.

Lucien turns to his side ever so slightly to regard his Silencer for a moment without disturbing her. She sleeps soundly, fully clothed and back in her shrouded armour. How strange it is that she looks perfectly in her element when wrapped in the Brotherhood armour while her face appears so sweet. She is like a child who never learned the concept of right or wrong, one that didn't have the opportunity to internalise the values of her natural family. Lucien is confident that she will never appear a ruthless killer, regardless of how many souls she sends to the Void. When he rescued her from a certain unpleasant death, she was like a blank canvas, full of promises, eager to accept him, keen to please him …

_and always hungry for his affection_. She still is, and there lies the greatest charm of Antoinetta.

Lucien runs the pad of his thumb through the length of her nose and applies gentle pressure on her bottom lip. She moans softly in her sleep, her lips parting and her pulse racing a tiny bit quicker. Her reaction to his touch still amuses Lucien. He loves playing her, hearing her sing to his tune, awake or asleep. He loves watching her, observing the way she beams at the smallest attention from him. As he runs his thumb slowly over the edge of her moist tongue, heat washes over her pale cheeks and her long eyelashes begin to twitch. All too soon, she wakes up to Lucien's bemused smile, her expression a mixture of desire and confusion.

"So eager … so willing," Lucien whispers hotly, watching her suckling his thumb like a famished infant. "I could devour you all day and night, and you would still manage to make me hunger for you."

"Do you wish to put that theory to the test, Speaker?"

That gratifying image of plunging into her warmth and making her ache for more of his force is almost too pleasant to brush aside with ease. Lucien, however, has not forgotten about his duty. Neither can he overlook the presence of an inquisitive Khajiit in the premise. Regretfully, he pries his finger away from her tempting mouth and presses a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose.

"A delightful idea," he comments with a mischievous grin. "Only, there is work to be done first. Sithis willing, however, we will not have to wait for the opportunity too long."

* * *

The sun is low, and the sky is grey. The ground is brilliant white with more fresh snow falling, when the familiar sight of Cheydinhal greets Lucien. Leaving Antoinetta behind to make enquiries at the Black Waterside Stables, Lucien heads straight to his Sanctuary with J'Ghasta in tow.

Entering the main hall, Lucien cannot help but feel a bitter taste in his mouth. The eerie silence of the place that was once full of activities is a powerful reminder of the pointless sacrifice he was forced to consent to. Of course, he made himself fully committed to the purification of his own Sanctuary, once the Hand reached the decision. That didn't make it a pleasant experience to order and watch the destruction of what he had built through years of hard industry. He endured the process, all the while feeling as though his nails had been pulled out from his very own fingers. Still, he is condemned to live with the sense of failure. That sense will linger even when Bellamont ceases to exist.

"We are too late," J'Ghasta growls, his whiskers twitching nervously. He smells blood that was not spilt long ago. His eyes soon land on a still form of an Argonian dressed in shrouded armour.

A cold, lifeless body of Shaleez lies on the floor in front of the training room, her eyes still wide open. From the trail of now dried blood, they can tell where she was struck down. Her body has been moved, and that is an indication for Arquen's survival. Hopefully, the Altmer has foiled the assassination attempt and is now chasing the traitor?

J'Ghasta's keen eyes spot a folded parchment that covers a deep, perfect cut on her chest, which J'Ghasta suspects she died from. Without delay, he hands the letter to Lucien, to whom it was addressed.

Lucien's mouth opens in disbelief as he scans the contents. He hands it back to J'Ghasta with a slight shake of his head and observes the Khajiit's expression rapidly changing from incredulity to annoyance.

_Dear Brother,_

_I leave this letter in the hope that you have found your little charge and will be back here soon enough. As you can see, Shaleez became another casualty to the traitor's audacious scheme. The Listener suspects Bellamont to be responsible and ordered his death. While Shaleez certainly fell at the hands of Bellamont, it is not what it seems. _

_The Listener has been deceived. I have uncovered the plot and found out that Banus Alor was the real traitor. His Silencer was merely following his orders and is now remorseful of his foolishness. _

_It is the puppet master we must deal with. Do you not agree? The time is running out for us and we must take immediate action. I cannot let the slimy weasel get away yet again. While that vile creature lives, the Night Mother weeps over her dead children. I have already sent a courier to Bravil with the piece of evidence that will expose the true identity of Banus Alor once and for all. _

_Brother, join me as soon as you can. Not that I am in any doubt over my ability to give a fitting death to the sorry existence. But I believe you want to see what would remain of that miserable elf (not much, I assure you), since he caused you so much grief. I am now heading to Anvil to root out the danger that has been threatening our very survival. _

_The sycophantic worm attempted to drive us apart by telling me that you were the traitor. I never believed him of course. I hope you know that. You are a shining example of what the Dark Brotherhood represents._

_Your loving Sister_

"She had Bellamont to satisfy all her sadistic desires and what did she do? She let him blindfold her and get on top of her!" J'Ghasta exclaims in exasperation. Then, mockingly. "Who would have thought that she would write you a love letter?"

Lucien begins to move towards the well through which they entered the Sanctuary. They have been here long enough. Shaleez's burial will have to wait.

"I'm flattered by your analysis of Arquen's intentions towards me. They appear ... benign to say the least. I will indeed keep the letter among my possessions. It has a novelty value to it. Perhaps we can discuss the precise nature and implications of her letter on our way to Anvil?"

"Certainly," J'Ghasta agrees cheerfully. "It looks like our Anvil Speaker is in dire trouble."


	19. Chapter 19

A.N. A big Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. ^_^ And yes, the final confrontation is close. Even Bellamont feels it now. :) I hope you like this chapter. Please let me know your thoughts.

Hi Antihero :) Thank you for the reviews. I'm sorry that there isn't Lucien-Antoinetta interaction in this chapter. I promise it will be there in the next chapter. ^_^

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

_The Night Mother is never wrong._

That, unfortunately, isn't a comforting fact when faced with yet another loss in _his_ Black Hand. It must be _his_ because the Night Mother sounded not in the least troubled when she calmly informed Ungolim that there would be another death. Arquen's letter, however, contains more than bad news. The move she has taken is simply _disastrous_. In her haste to punish the _real_ traitor, she has conveniently omitted the process of seeking the council and approval of the Hand.

_A poisonous snake_. Ungolim has to agree to the Night Mother's assessment of Bellamont. The forged letter that Arquen enclosed in her communication is convincing enough to deceive anyone who doubts the sincerity of Vicente's testament. Unfortunately, Arquen had a good reason not to trust the vampire. Still, she had received an unambiguous order to execute Bellamont. Even if she survives the precarious company of the sneaky Breton, her act of insubordination cannot go unpunished; otherwise Ungolim would completely lose the dwindling respect of his Speakers. Regardless of the outcome of her rash action, Arquen will no longer serve as a Speaker.

_And that means Banus' death would be twice as catastrophic. _

"She didn't strike me as the thoughtful type, though I must confess my admiration for the skills of the forger. She must have believed Banus wrote this without a shadow of a doubt," Vicente comments rather unhelpfully, placing the forged letter on the dining table. Then, thinking of his uncollected debt. "Do you wish to send me to Anvil?"

"Had Arquen stopped to think for a moment, she should have known that Banus was just as ignorant of Uvani's whereabouts as herself. I was the only one who knew Uvani was going to be in Bruma on that cursed night. She should have suspected the legitimacy of the letter," Ungolim mutters wryly.

The Listener's bitter apprehension, however, soon turns into a hard resolve. The carnage simply cannot go on. He will not let the traitor cripple his once formidable Black Hand. Like it or not, Arquen will be forced to listen to him when they meet face-to-face.

"We will leave together, Brother. I will not lose another Hand member."

* * *

The small room is in a greasy tavern, near Skingrad. It is without a fireplace and doesn't even have decent blankets to fight the winter chill. Bellamont, however, feels too hot to enjoy the rest he desperately needs. Sleep does not come, no matter how his body craves for it. He should be really sending the Altmer next door to her death, while she enjoys her slumber.

Only, he cannot. His right arm has not healed completely, and there are no more healing potions left. A single mistake, and he will be done for before he has another chance to strike a lethal blow. He will have to purchase a couple of strong healing potions first. After that, his only opportunity will come when Arquen is too engaged in torturing Banus to notice any suspicious move from him. Of course, seeing Banus scream in agony will be an experience that he will take much pleasure in. He will have to cut the fun short, however, as he now realises that the Black Hand is after him. The dim-witted Altmer made it no secret where they were heading.

The moment Arquen told him about Vicente Valtieri's involvement in the Black Hand's decision to do without him, Bellamont immediately realised that his luck had finally ran out. He could easily make out that the Altmer's faith in the forged letter was mainly based on her intense dislike of the vampire. It is now a matter of how many of his enemies he can destroy before he himself is destroyed. He will not, however, go down easily. He will at least take Lachance with him to death's door, hopefully more.

Soon, the dawn will break. And just after nightfall, he should arrive at Anvil, a city that could be his last destination if the rest of the Black Hand catches up with him.

_Mother. It will be soon over. You won't have to feel so cold and alone any longer. I will warm our frozen hearts with their blood when I join you. I am sorry I cannot destroy their mother. I will, however, make that black-hearted witch grieve just as I grieved for you. The Black Hand will not be half as strong as it once was by the time I behold your sweet face once again. _

* * *

Unlike J'Ghasta, Ungolim and Uvani who chose to live within the walls of a city, Banus chose his nest on a hillside, east of Anvil. It is close enough to both his Sanctuary and the comfort of civilization, while free from prying eyes. The entrance to the cave is cleverly disguised by tall bushes, which are abundant in the area. To unobservant eyes, the cave just looks like one of the huge rocks, which are also plentiful. From the top of the cave, one can enjoy the view of the jagged coastline and the calm blue sea on a fine day, if one is so inclined. The feel of openness that surrounds his private sanctum was what attracted Banus to the location, even though he hardly had the time to admire the scenery.

Tonight, however, Banus is struck by a suffocating sense of doom as he approaches his residence. He cannot explain it. His day itself was rather satisfactory. There was a fresh addition to his Sanctuary, a promising newcomer. He should have his new Silencer soon, one without treacherous intent. He has also finalised a contract that should bring two thousand septims to the Brotherhood, a third of which will be his keep. Now that they have pinpointed the identity of the conspirator, it should be only a matter of time before a sense of normality prevails.

It is nothing unusual that he walks under the disguise of invisibility. It is wise to do so in the wild. What is unusual is his reaction to the shadows. They were his friends and allies. They made him feel familiar and safe. Not tonight. He feels uneasy about their presence. The silhouettes of rocks, trees and bushes bother him for a reason that he cannot think of. When a shadow jumps out from behind his own cave entrance, Banus pulls his sword out and strikes it down with breathtaking speed. It turns out to be merely a deer, but he is in no mood to laugh at his paranoia. He nearly turns away from what should be his safe haven. Only the fact that he is supposed to meet Belisarius there makes him reluctantly insert a key into the lock, which is …

_broken_. Finally, his mind clears and he realises he has a visitor. His former Silencer must be waiting for him. So, why is he not feeling the rush and thrill before the kill? Why is his instinct screaming at him the disgraceful word '_run_'?

Banus inhales deeply to still his flailing nerves. If it is indeed Bellamont who has broken into his home, he cannot avoid the inevitable confrontation. He has an order to execute the Breton and cannot risk showing his back to the traitor. For all likelihood, Bellamont already knows the exact location of his target. His sword still drawn, Banus casts the Detect Life spell just as his enemy probably has done. Every skilled assassin in the Brotherhood knows the trick of invisibility and how to combat it. Having kicked the entrance door wide open, Banus jumps backwards to avoid any spell or weapon thrown at him. Nothing. Not yet. He opts not to make himself invisible. Instead, he decides to summon an Ancestor Guardian, who he believes will provide a far better distraction to his enemy's focus.

The Guardian never has a chance to materialize as a high-pitched, slightly manic laughter from the rear disrupts the dark elf's concentration. Insane as he may be, Bellamont does not have vocal chords to produce such a cheery noise. Besides, Banus has heard it many times before, enough to recognize its owner as an Altmer he knows well. Her laughter has never appealed to his aesthetic taste, but neither did he find it so disturbing as on this occasion. He should have felt relieved to hear her. Instead a foreboding chill runs the length of his spine. Slowly, he faces the source of the unpleasant sound and stares at the smiling Altmer.

"What are you doing here, Arquen?" Banus asks, not caring to sheath his blade.

There is a glimmer in her eyes, the same sparkle that lights up before the kill. He does not like it one bit. And he is right not to.

"I have to wonder why you are not happy seeing me."

As she speaks, a tall figure rises from behind the rock shaped cave. It is not the shadow of the figure, but that of the fishing net spread above that Banus catches a glimpse of, as he sharply turns towards the sound of sudden movement from behind.

* * *

A relentless chase. That more or less surmises the journey from Cheydinhal to Anvil. They have driven their horses to the very limit, stopping and resting when the animals could go no longer. It was half a day's distance that they needed to catch up on when they left Cheydinhal. And after all that mad riding, they only managed to narrow the gap by half, which implies that they were not the only ones who were hell bent on getting to Anvil as soon as they could. Arquen can be pretty single-minded when pursuing the prey. Though that trait has served her well in the past, it is no comfort to Lucien and his companions that she may have already taken Banus' life. In fact, they begin to wish Arquen were less talented, less skilful in her death craft.

"Their horses are still stabled," J'Ghasta declares, after making a brief enquiry at the Horse Whisperer Stables. "It seems that Belisarius also has been here half an hour ago. We can only hope that Banus stayed away from his residence long enough. Or perhaps his Silencer got there in time."

_Or perhaps she didn't like ending the entertainment too soon._ J'Ghasta thinks dismally. The dark look in his eyes is, however, soon replaced by a sparkle of excitement. In their last stop, he made a conscious decision to change into his Black Hand robe. Much to his amusement, Lucien did the same. The simple coincidental gesture implied that the Imperial, too, was sensing what J'Ghasta had been, an anticipation of a closure, a conclusion of the events the meaning of which baffled and frustrated the Black Hand. Perhaps, Arquen's rash move could benefit him? He has always wanted the Anvil Sanctuary. Even if Banus survived the ordeal, he would be eager for a change of scenery. He certainly would not wish to stay in his usual residence after this night.

Lucien nods, his expression grim. Though he is not exactly fond of Banus, he'd rather not see him dead. He does not want Bellamont to have the satisfaction of taking down more Hand members. It is not, however, Banus' life which concerns him at present. Ever since they left Skingrad, he's been suffering intermittent visions. Clips of images that have no bearing on reality. And yet so vivid, so life-like.

He has seen Leonia coming back to Fort Farragut, leaving all his assassins dead. He has seen J'Ghasta lying at her feet. He has watched helplessly how Leonia wielded her blade against the members of the Black Hand. One-by-one they all fell till she finally claimed the Listener's life. He saw himself roaring at her, accusing her of treachery. As disturbing as the images are, what worries him is their crippling effects. When the visions attack him, his mind is far away from his surroundings. It is like his very existence being temporarily removed from the realm of reality. No amount of will power seems to steer his senses back to where they should be.

Not surprisingly, Lucien is rather apprehensive of the forthcoming confrontation with Bellamont. He has an uncomfortable feeling that the visions will beset him once again at the crucial moment. Insane ideas fill his head, refusing to be shaken off. _It is a moment of revelation that is waiting. Destiny will deny me to be the cause of the traitor's downfall._

"We will ride to Banus' residence?" J'Ghasta enquires, pondering why Lucien looks much troubled.

The Khajiit is also curious why the Imperial gave his Silencer the precious potion that he spent a fortune on. No one expected her to do any of the real fighting. Not on this occasion. Then again, Arquen will pay no heed to Antoinetta's words. She may serve the cause better by remaining completely invisible till the decisive moment. The potion will certainly help with that.

"There wouldn't be much point in attempting a sneak attack," replies Lucien. "Only Antoinetta's presence will remain invisible."

They cannot fight Arquen unless she initiates an attack. They will have to try to reason with her. He will, however, not be denied the pleasure of dealing a decisive blow against Bellamont. Destiny be damned. If Antoinetta cheated her destiny, so can he.


	20. Chapter 20

A.N. A big Thank you to all those who have taken time to read and review this fic. Hopefully, this chapter will not feel like an anti-climax. There are still two chapters to come. So, yes, HauntedWind, you will have your proper smut before the end of this story. ^_^

Hello Poppy :) Thank you for the review, which made me smile once again. When I started this fic, I just wanted to see how Lucien/Antoinetta pairing might work out. I'm so glad that you think the pairing realistic. Thank you! There will be more of Lucien/Antoinetta moment in the final two chapters.

* * *

Chapter Twenty

Is it a good thing to die in one's home? It can be if it is a swift death. The last thing one sees and feels is something familiar, something comforting. But what if the death is slow and exceedingly painful? Banus dreads that he is about to find out the answer to this oddly inappropriate question.

Perhaps, it isn't inappropriate enough. Peculiar thoughts are what he exactly needs. He needs to cloud his head with thoughts that are far removed from whatever fate Arquen has prepared for him. He may be dangling from the ceiling, upside down and stripped naked, but he is a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood. Sithis forbids if he succumbs to fear and the sense of humiliation that is nearly driving him over the edge of sanity. Sithis forbids if he is forced to beg for mercy that would never come.

"Pray to whatever sordid God you worship that Lucien Lachance will be here before too long," Arquen speaks, gracefully perched on Banus' finest leather couch and taking a sip of his finest wine. "I intend to keep you alive till his arrival. But of course, I am not about to forgo the pleasure of seeing you squirm and writhe like the worm you are."

"You've been always prone to misunderstandings," Banus replies, his voice filled with loathing. "You will regret this, Arquen. Whatever suspicions your insane mind has conjured up, let the Black Hand decide my fate. You know damn well that I cannot go anywhere. If you want to torture me, do it yourself. Don't let the traitor do your dirty work."

"Enough!" Arquen roars, somehow managing to sound loud and menacing. "I promise you that you will plead for mercy soon enough."

_That is some feat to achieve, considering how high-pitched her voice is._ Neither the blasting roar nor her threat frightens him. He already knows what is to come. With or without threat, the outcome is set and waiting. _How many stars are there in the sky? Has anyone made it their chore to count them? It would have taken a lifetime. Would they know, then?_

"I know you well enough that my plea will make no difference. Do whatever you want with me. You will not hear me begging."

Arquen laughs cruelly, swirling the wine glass between her fingers. "You know I've always suspected that you are a skinny little thing beneath the Black Hand robe. I did like your face though. Your treacherous face. Perhaps that's where we will start."

She pauses and smiles charmingly at Banus, not realising he is no longer listening to her. "I've always wondered how resilient Dunmers are to fire. We could test that. We could set your hair on fire. Or, perhaps you want to know how long the intestines can be? I could measure yours while you still live. Oh, perhaps I should try both."

_How many petals does a rose have? How many shades of red can the eyes make out? When does red stop becoming red?_

"Bellamont, dear. Drag your dagger across his cheek. Then wherever your fancy takes you. Do not kill him. Let your blade sing for me."

Bellamont obliges. Banus' cries break out despite the mer's best efforts. The sound, however, does not delight the Breton as much as it should. Oh, he has no objection to hearing it. He just does not like the fact that he is the one who is carrying out the torture. For that means Arquen is still watching him, making it difficult for him to strike her before the rest of the Black Hand arrives at the scene. Worse, Arquen's laughter and continuous suggestions to where he should cut Banus open make it almost impossible to detect any approaching footsteps of the Hand members. They are so soft that even trained ears like Bellamont's can only pick them up in relatively quiet settings.

When Arquen tells Bellamont to stop his blade craft and heal Banus with a view to replay the music all over again, the Breton decides that he has had enough of the high elf. He walks towards the corner where Arquen placed her bag, hoping that she will not take her eyes off the beautiful job he has made of Banus so far. If all else fails, he will simply attack her even if it lacks the element of surprise. He will draw his sword before she has chance to ready hers. Even if she manages to block his initial strike, she is no match for him. Not in this proximity.

So immersed in admiring the handiwork of Bellamont, Arquen does not realise he has disappeared from her sight. The last thing she hears is the wooden door to the living quarter thrown open, quite abruptly. The last thing she sees is the horrified, questioning eyes of Belisarius.

"There is no need to be alarmed, Belisarius. The traitor is …"

Arquen never finishes her reassuring speech.

* * *

"These rocks. They all look the same!" J'Ghasta laments.

They have now dismounted, making the search easier. Neither J'Ghasta nor Lucien, however, can remember the exact location of Banus' hideout.

"Use your Khajiit nose, J'Ghasta," Lucien hisses.

Lucien is straining his ears to hear any sound that is not the work of the bad weather. The fine night sky that greeted their arrival at Anvil has not lasted. The rain is heavy, the winds are howling, and thunder frequently erupts over their heads. It is as though everything is conspiring against the fate of Banus.

J'Ghasta merely scoffs at Lucien's ill advice before checking out another rock. The winds are blowing from behind them, scattering and carrying away any crucial scent that he might detect. Honestly, how little Imperials know the ways and abilities of Khajiits! This is, however, not a time to engage in lengthy discussion.

"I believe I know the way, Speakers."

Antoinetta steps forward and begins to lead the way. Though both J'Ghasta and Lucien are doubtful that her senses are somehow superior to theirs, the abrupt change in her demeanour is persuasive enough for them to follow her. Antoinetta radiates the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they are doing. At the same time, she has the look of someone possessed. Her large blue eyes glow with strange, almost unerring delight and her cheeks are bright pink as though bathed in warmth, as though the rain did not touch her. The sight of her transformation makes both Speakers ponder the same question.

_Has Sithis spoken to her?_

Antoinetta has been indeed hearing voices. She recognises them well. They are unique and unmistakable. Neither male nor female, soft and harsh at once, intimidating and yet comforting. Sithis has commanded her attention before. Only this time she is not hearing the words in her head. They are floating near her like invisible light, coaxing her into a certain locality and promising an ample reward, a death that will delight the Dread Father like no other.

For once, though, she is hesitant to bask in the promise of a fresh kill. In Skingrad, she has been observing Lucien's face when he talked about the business of Bellamont with J'Ghasta. She has never seen so much hunger in his eyes. She understood without him spelling out to her that her Speaker wanted to shed the traitor's blood with his own hands. She is, however, not worried about why Sithis is speaking to the wrong person. Somehow, she realises she will know what to do when the time comes. She will be presented with a choice and will not make the wrong one.

As Antoinetta points to Banus' cave entrance, the stormy weather clears just as suddenly as it came. Both Speakers can finally detect the smell of death and the sound of a desperate struggle that rages inside.

"The party begun without us."

J'Ghasta dashes into the cave first, closely followed by Lucien and Antoinetta. The first sight that greets the Khajiit is the pitiful form of Banus, still hanging upside down by the ankles and his bluish grey skin soaked in blood. J'Ghasta quickly averts his eyes away from the sorry state of the mer towards the almost finished battle between Belisarius and Bellamont. Banus' Silencer is still fighting but it is clear that he is on his last legs. Bellamont on the other hand shows no sign of fatigue, only a derisive glee as he spots the presence of his most hateful enemy, Lucien Lachance. Hatred rises to a new level, pumping Bellamont's blood with almost inhuman force. With that force, he strikes down Belisarius and sends him to where Arquen went not so long ago.

J'Ghasta quickly makes his move, expecting Lucien to follow suit. He does not see what Antoinetta has seen with nervous apprehension. Her Speaker looks as though he is frozen on the spot. He has not been paying any attention to Belisarius' courageous efforts or Bellamont's moment of one more triumph. He is not looking at the centre of the drama that is unfolding only twenty feet away from where he stands.

Although Lucien's eyes are fixed on Banus, he is not seeing the mer. What he sees is another molested body, _his_ body. All that he hears is the anguished cry of his grieving soul. Then slowly, he hears the laughter, triumphant and euphoric. Faces appear around him, one-by-one. They are victorious and delighted. They are the faces of Arquen, Banus, Belisarius and Bellamont.

_Funny that Bellamont's face is the last to appear. How pathetic was I? Not one of them seems to suffer life-threatening injuries! _

"Lucien!"

The Imperial has not seen Bellamont dodging J'Ghasta's swing. He has not seen Bellamont opting to charge at him instead of renewing his assault on the Khajiit. He has not heard the warning shouts of J'Ghasta. Only Antoinetta's desperate cry finally pulls him out of the vision-induced trance.

Lucien turns and sees Bellamont coming, sword raised high above his intense face, a face distorted with sheer pleasure and hate. Or that's what he thought. In fact, his enemy is frozen and dying, rendered immobile by Antoinetta's spell and dying from the effect of poison. Lucien sees Antoinetta's dagger embedded in the right shoulder of Bellamont and understands. His enemy only has a few seconds left to live. Seeing Antoinetta quickly moving out of harm's way, Lucien raises his sword and severs Bellamont's head from the rest of his body in one smooth movement.

Ignoring everything else, Lucien purposely strides towards Antoinetta and pulls her to his chest, hard.

"We will never speak of this again, Antoinetta," he whispers to the trusting face. "Twice, you tricked the workings of Destiny. Twice, you saved me from my unpalatable fate. You have my gratitude."

"Do I have your affection and trust, Speaker?"

Lucien releases her from the tight embrace. A giddy pleasure spreads through her veins as his hot breath falls on her lips.

"You have always had it ever since you turned up at Fort Farragut to die at my hands."


	21. Chapter 21

A.N. Yep, this is the first of the final two chapters where Bellamont is no more than an unpleasant memory to the survivors of the Black Hand. But there are still a few things that need wrapping up. I also felt that I owed you guys at least one proper scene that justifies the M rating. ^_^ A big Thank you to all those who have been reading and reviewing. Next to my favorite Speaker, you guys have been my inspiration and driving force to continue with this fic. :)

Hello Poppy. ^_^ Although Lucien/Antoinetta scenes were the very scenes that I wanted to write most and still do, they were/are the most challenging for me. So, it makes me happy to know that you enjoyed them. And yes, Antoinetta is like a loyal poppy when it comes to Lucien. There is nothing I love in the world more than a loyal dog or a devoted wolf. And perhaps that's why Lucien in my fics always reserves his tender side to those who love him even to the extent of fault. He may be a ruthless assassin, but he will have to live with my characterizations while he breathes in my own fic. :D Thank you as always for your delightful input. Hopefully, you will like Lucien/Antoinetta scene in this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

The surprisingly spacious living quarter is now a misshapen shadow of its former glory. Most of the once elegant and comfortable furniture has been broken beyond any hope of repair. Even the bright red cushions and throws have not escaped the effect of the bloody struggle that took place not so long ago. Their beauty has been tarnished by the darker shade of red the exact origin of which cannot be determined. At least though, there is a shared sense of relief in the air, which is now warm with the welcoming heat from the stone hearth. The place is also considerably brighter; all the torches and lanterns mounted on the walls are lit and candles burn on every available surface that has preserved steady flatness.

The far left corner of the room is, however, still intact. The double bed stands solid, and its satin covers wrap the belly and thighs of its owner, who has blissfully passed out. Lucien's tall figure looms over Banus' unconscious form, his hands hovering over the mer's chest and his eyes half closed in concentration. The Anvil Speaker's life is no longer in danger. Antoinetta's potions took care of that. He will recover and live even if Lucien withdraws the treatment. The Imperial continues regardless, even as he feels his magicka has almost run out.

Truth be told, he does not care whether the dark elf lives or dies. Not now when Bellamont is no more. And certainly not after he has seen …

Yet, it matters whether Banus will carry the physical scars. Lucien practically poured all his healing potions on the mer, beginning from the face and neck and rubbing the fluid over and over all the visible gashes. Any further delay, and the scars would have been permanent. He was determined not to let that happen. Not because their presence would make the mer even less tolerable …

but because they will be a invariable reminder of how helpless the Black Hand was against the threat within and how utterly useless his struggles against the spiteful web of Fate could have been. He could pretend Arquen never existed. He could make believe that Belisarius never made a Silencer. With Banus, it simply will not do, unless he can excuse himself from every single Black Hand meeting. Be that may, he can at least wipe clean any visible blemish that is left behind after the legacy of Bellamont.

"We have more potions, Speaker," Antoinetta shouts from the opposite corner, proudly lifting up files of blue liquid from Arquen's bag found beneath a collapsed couch. Her hurried footsteps, however, stop in mid stride, interrupted by a familiar silky voice.

"You have not changed much, Sister. I was concerned that you might not be the same charming Antoinetta."

Vicente's elegant form enters into the scene, causing Antoinetta's eyes to widen in surprise. A slow smile appears and deepens on both faces as they stare at each other. Antoinetta would have given him a genuinely warm embrace if she had not noticed a dark robed mer stepping into the room. She settles for returning the vampire's complement. They both live to tell the tale. There will be plenty of time to engage in deep conversation.

"You look rather well yourself, Brother."

Vicente quickly scans the room before staring straight into Lucien's eyes, who has temporarily discontinued his unenviable chore in recognition of Ungolim's appearance. Emotions, all tangled together, rage inside the vampire. He thought his still heart would only feel bitterness at the sight of the Imperial. He was wrong. So very wrong. He feels, more than anything, relieved and proud. His star pupil survived the crisis that almost destroyed the very core of the Brotherhood and came out as the winner. The sense of anger and disappointment, nevertheless, has not subsided. It still burns and burns with a profound intensity. _I thought you better than the rest of the Hand. And you behaved in the exact same manner._

_Not now, Brother._ Lucien knows Vicente deserves his attention. All the same, he turns his gaze away and seeks Ungolim's permission to carry on fixing Banus. Having obtained the consent, Lucien's attention is back on the task at hand. He is thankful that Antoinetta found the necessary potions in time and applies ample amounts to any remaining cuts.

"How inappropriate," Vicente comments unsympathetically, watching the Imperial's skilled hands working on such unfamiliar territory as healing. "You repay the devotion of your subordinates by ordering their sacrifice. Yet, you've been wasting your precious magicka over a mer … who would have been quite happy to eliminate you on the basis of a forged order. He would have been no wiser than Arquen. Surely, you should have known?"

"Make yourself useful, Brother," Lucien makes a curt reply, his impassive gaze never leaving his patient. "The quicker I can wipe away the final traces of the traitor, the sooner you can attend your business with me."

A few moments of tense silence pass before the vampire breaks the stalemate. Vicente has yet to forgive his former pupil, but at least some things are beginning to make sense.

"In that case, Speaker Lachance, I offer to finish your project. It occurs to me that you could do with a rest."

---------------------

The bodies still need to be buried or, in Bellamont's case, need to be disposed of. Nevertheless, the survivors must continue to play their role, even as their life means the death of others. The Black Hand business must be discussed. The vacant positions should be filled.

"If you wish, we could delay the discussion till this evening. From what I have heard, both of you must be extremely fatigued. It will also be beneficial to have Banus present," Ungolim suggests to his Speakers.

Presently, they are seated around a small wooden table, next to a few bookshelves and a small writing desk. Though there is plenty of lighting available in the room, not a single candle or lantern is lit. They chose to keep the small space dark for their eyes' comfort and use less intrusive Night-eye spells to read each other's expressions. Ungolim looks the most drained out of the three. Two more deaths weigh heavily on his mind, even as he is relieved that no more catastrophes await them.

"I believe we need to talk about the Anvil Sanctuary before Banus can make the meeting," J'Ghasta interrupts quickly, leaning forward and whispering inconspicuously.

There is a slim chance that Banus would hear them even if he were awake. The small chamber, which may be called a library, is located some distance away from the living quarters, with three sets of heavy-wood doors in between. Still, J'Ghasta knows how important creating the right atmosphere can be.

"He will probably not request a transfer to another Sanctuary for fear of showing signs of weakness. It will be, however, beneficial for him to leave Anvil and take his position elsewhere."

Lucien is amused by J'Ghasta's opportunistic proposition but says nothing of it. Ungolim nods his agreement. Whatever J'Ghasta's motives may be, it makes sense to put Banus in charge of another Sanctuary.

"Then, you will be happy to oversee the Anvil Sanctuary?"

J'Ghasta tries his best to hide his glee and answers the Listener with the look of a dutiful servant.

"I will of course be happy wherever the Brotherhood requires my presence."

"The Anvil Sanctuary is yours, J'Ghasta. We will discuss minor details of the takeover this evening. I shall require your presence here just after sunset. Now, let me have a few private words with Lucien."

"So, tell me, my friend," Ungolim begins, a short while after J'Ghasta's exit. "Do you believe Sithis has spoken to Antoinetta?"

The Listener is of course curious about what he suspects are visions that rendered Lucien vulnerable at crucial moments. He will not enquire about it, however. The almost obsessive way Lucien was treating Banus' injuries tells him that his subordinate will not welcome the subject. He has an inkling that it must have been a message of sort from the Night Mother and that it was intended solely for Lucien. Knowing how the Night Mother loves her favoured children, he doubts that the meaning was something of a comforting nature.

"That is the only plausible explanation that we can think of. I heard a report of such nature before. I couldn't be sure of its validity at the time," Lucien replies, wondering where this conversation may lead.

"Then, she will make an able Speaker… some day. There is something I need to tell you. I have asked Vicente to be my Silencer and he accepted. That leaves the running of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary somewhat challenging. There is also a problem with the Bravil Sanctuary. We will struggle to find a Speaker for the Sanctuary since I intend to send Banus to Bruma. There is Havilstein of course, but he is not cut out to be a Speaker. Besides, I would like to have you near me."

_You wish to close the Cheydinhal Sanctuary for the time being._ Lucien feels too exhausted to think with clarity concerning the advantages and disadvantages of such a move to the Brotherhood as a whole. He can only consider what it will mean to Antoinetta. She will have enough time to train as a future Speaker with a place secured for her when she is ready. That is good enough reason to accept Ungolim's proposal.

"I would be happy to take charge of the Bravil Sanctuary."

------------------------------

Comforting darkness greets Lucien as he reluctantly opens his eyes. The room was light and airy when he arrived in the early morning. The three large windows with decorative wooden trellis are now all covered by hanging carpets that originally were draped across the sidewalls. He intended to sleep well and was in no mood to change the furniture around. The idea of placing a bed directly below the windows is unfortunately popular with publicans.

Lucien's eyes habitually scan the large luxurious room, starting from the pleasingly high ornate ceiling, till they land on an unobtrusive figure seated on a high-back chair near the door.

"How long have you been there?"

Lucien rented the entire upper floor of the Count's Arms for the whole day. He did not want any prying ears around. Not when all he wanted to do was to bury himself inside Antoinetta and make her whimper with pleasure and desire. Nevertheless, he had to tell her to sleep in the next room. Neither of them was in any fitting state to indulge in the kind of corporeal activity he had in mind.

"Not long, Speaker. It could not have been longer than half an hour."

"I must be losing my touch. You sneaked into the room without waking me up," Lucien observes bemusedly.

"I had brought some stew from downstairs, just in case you wanted something tastier than potatoes and apples."

"Come here," Lucien commands, lifting himself up into a sitting position and leaning against the headboard.

Lucien's appetite has returned, but it is not for food. He is hungry for Antoinetta, hungry for the soft feel of her bare curves and the feverish longing that intensifies with his every touch.

"You are wearing your armour," Lucien remarks somewhat gruffly, raising his hand to stop her coming nearer as she reaches the raised platform where the bed is situated.

"It really is no trouble to get out of this, Speaker. That is, if you wish to see me without it," Antoinetta replies, trying to steady her voice that is heavy with need.

"Then, take it off."

_How on earth did I manage to seduce him?_ Antoinetta wonders while her fingers are busy ridding herself of the unwelcoming clothing. Even the thought of his piercing gaze roaming over her bare form is enough to make the simple task tediously difficult. Her nimble fingers suddenly feel clumsy as her body succumbs to the scorching desire that has taken over her mind.

Lucien takes his time to drink in her naked features, greatly enjoying the way she shivers with anticipation. He realises he does not need to lift a finger to set her on fire. Every fibre of her being yearns for his attention as though she was born to be caressed by him, as though she could not be whole without his warmth.

_You belong to me._

"Turn around."

Antoinetta hears him remove his nightgown and soon feels his presence directly behind her. She has no will to suppress the stream of moans and gasps that escape her lips, as Lucien slowly runs his palm over the length of her back and down on to her round buttocks while his teeth lightly graze her skin. As Lucien continues his assault on her soft flesh, the light caress turns into a hard squeeze and gentle grazing becomes harder nibbling. Antoinetta is almost beside herself with the need to be taken. She is surprised that she can stand at all, that her knees can still bear her weight.

"How would you like me, Antoinetta?" Lucien whispers seductively, after finally allowing her to lie down on the bed. His expression betrays nothing of the maddening desire to be inside her.

"I would like you to take possession of me," she whispers back, blushing furiously at her utter lack of self-control. Lucien has no trouble in reducing her to nothing but a whimpering wreck.

_That I already have, my little Antoinetta._ Lucien, however, has no wish to delay their joining any further. She is more than ready to accept him.

"That I cannot possibly disagree to," Lucien replies, before taking the deep plunge into her and relishing the visible relief on her face.

_You belong to me and will always remain so._


	22. Chapter 22

A.N. Yep, this is really the final chapter. After telling you in the beginning that this fic is going to be a short one, I am slightly embarrassed by how long it got. Hopefully, I did a decent job with the last chapter. In particular, I'm hoping the resolution of conflict between Vicente and Lucien does not read too abrupt or hurried. A big Thank you to all of you who took your chance and have given your support to this fic despite the rather unusual pairing. ^_^ I loved hearing from you guys.

Hello Poppy. :) I'm so glad that you stayed with this fic throughout. No, I can't believe it's been nearly six months since I first started writing this fic. That's a long time. lol. Thank you for all your support. :) And yes, you have my assurance that both Vicente and Antoinetta have moved on from their petty squabbles. :) Oh, and whenever you are comfortable about your ideas for your new fic, do send it to me through PM or email. I know you will probably have to log into your account to send a PM, but my email address should be accessible without you logging in. I do hope I will continue to hear from you. ^_^

* * *

Chapter Twenty-two

Making love is like seeing a vision. Apart from the fact that the naked body offers little protection, the workings of the senses are far removed from the task of self-preservation. It renders the participants extremely vulnerable. Yet, what a delightful vision it is. The body and mind co-operate together to create a moment where all duality vanishes into a blissful union.

Lucien's grips on Antoinetta's hips become harder, as he thrusts deeper and faster. The force and speed with which he pushes inside her is almost frightening. He delves into her fervent embrace again and again as though he wants every single cell of her body to remember him, and for a long time. Somewhere in her hazy consciousness, she realises he is hurting her, but she does not mind one single bit. The pain does nothing to compromise the sense of sheer delight. If anything, his unmitigated force only enhances the sense of gratification.

Lucien collapses on Antoinetta's exhausted form as he finally allows himself to bask in the long awaited release. With his eyes closed, he focuses solely on the pleasing sensation till it passes through him and his breathings become calmer. Only then, does he notice the movement of Antoinetta's chest rising and falling beneath his. Lucien opens his eyes to regard the contented figure for a moment before enveloping her firmly in his arms and rolling over to reverse their position.

"You are so … light. How do you ever endure my weight?"

Antoinetta does not answer him immediately. She inhales and releases the heated air a few times to regain her capacity to think and form words, relishing the secure feel of his arms.

"Your weight is intoxicating and addictive, Speaker. I do not wish to be deprived of it for long."

Lucien raises one eyebrow in mock disapproval.

"Even though my weight could crush you?"

"I'd rather die beneath it than live without it."

Antoinetta lets out a long sigh as she feels his embrace tighten.

"Antoinetta," Lucien calls out, his eyes glittering with delight. "I have always known we make a perfect match."

* * *

The Hand meeting turned out to be a simple undemanding affair. It consisted firstly of a series of proposals mostly made by Ungolim with subsequent consents given by his Speakers. After that, the practical enquiries followed to help each Speaker adapt to their new Sanctuaries. During the whole process, Banus spoke very little, the usual display of charming expressions noticeably absent throughout. The mer looked much too tired and seemed clearly relieved when Ungolim finally declared the affair to be over.

Lucien was therefore more surprised than annoyed when Banus asked for a few moments of his time. Not that he was by any means thrilled by the request. He only needed to see Vicente before heading for Bravil. Nevertheless, meeting with someone whose death he had ordered somehow seemed to be less taxing than being in the company of someone whose life he had saved. Unfortunately, the invitation was made in the presence of Ungolim and J'Ghasta. Refusing him was unthinkable; it would have attracted unwanted attention to his true feelings towards the Dunmer Speaker.

"If you merely wanted to express your gratitude, there is no need," Lucien begins, seeing Banus hesitant to start the conversation. The mer would not even try to meet his gaze, which is really rather pitiful. There aren't that many things to see in the small chamber at the back of the cave.

"I'm certain that you would have done the same for me."

"You know I would not have," replies Banus, his fingers nervously tapping the arm of his chair. This time, however, he meets Lucien's expressionless stare. With a weary sigh, he continues.

"I realise that you have little reason to feel Brotherly love towards me, Lachance. I still do not understand why you helped me the way you did. You of course have my gratitude. That is _not_, however, why I wanted to see you."

Lucien leans forward, placing his elbow on the table that separates them and leaning his chin against the back of his hand. _Go on and be done with it. I'm listening for now._

"You all saw what had happened to me. It should not matter. It couldn't have been helped. But the fact that you saw me that way … powerless, beaten and humiliated … I find it hard. I fear … I have lost your respect. Somehow, it matters to me whether I indeed lost it."

_Ah, that was what this was all about._ Lucien finds the Dunmer's apprehension somewhat laughable. Still, he realises the Banus in front of him is not the same Banus that would have been, had Antoinetta's survival not changed the course of Fate. The old Banus certainly would not have worried about Lucien's opinion of him. There is no reason why Lucien should continue to feel weary of him.

"Did you beg, Brother? Did they make you?"

"I was seriously tempted."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't."

Regardless of the answer Banus gave, Lucien was willing to start anew his relationship with the Dunmer. The correct reply nevertheless helps.

"Lucien Lachance, Speaker of the Bravil Sanctuary. Happy to make your acquaintance."

Banus blinks several times in confusion. Then, slowly and firmly, he takes the extended hand.

"Banus Alor, Speaker of the Bruma Sanctuary. Likewise."

* * *

The steep rocky beach is deserted in the depth of the night, except for the two figures who stand side by side, though comfortably apart, on a giant bolder thrown up by the sea. Lucien still wears his robe but keeps his hood down, listening to the wind ruffling the deep water.

"I was surprised that you had accepted Ungolim's offer," the Imperial first breaks the silence between them. He is not overly uncomfortable with it, but they do not have much time together. Certain things must be resolved before they move on with their respective life, even though their relationship may never be the same as before.

"When you have only decades to live, being alone can be a novelty. When you have infinite time before you, that is a rather tedious prospect," Vicente muses almost idly. As he continues, however, his tone darkens. "That explains why I did not wish to leave behind the Sanctuary life. Things have changed since then, as we both know. A family that is only a memory is more of a curse than a comfort."

Lucien merely shifts his gaze from the sea to his former teacher and subordinate, his body slowly following the move. What has to pass must pass. _The earth merely coughs, and we are torn apart by its force._

Vicente holds out his arms, an invitation to an embrace, which Lucien accepts. Vicente does not intend to make the ceremony painless. He prefers Lucien taking the full blunt of his anger, his grievance.

_Damn vampire._ Lucien curses silently, biting back a sharp cry. Though he was prepared for Vicente's assault, he didn't think it would be as unpleasant as the stab of a knife. It takes much of his will power not to lash out at the vampire whose fangs are lovingly embedded into his shoulder blade. _You will have your moment. Enjoy while it lasts._

Blood flows from one flesh into another, the sweet taste of which washes away the acidic fury that one feels for the other. Lucien readies himself for what he has in store for his former subordinate, fighting the sense of vertigo that comes with the loss of blood. Finally, Vicente's tight grip on Lucien's arms slackens, signalling the end of the feast.

Proximity can be dangerous, if one fails to read the intention of another. Lucien makes most of it as he sends Vicente flying with a shock spell that hits straight on the chest. The vampire barely registers the sudden turn of the event when Lucien's form gracefully lands next to him.

"That was for your failure to inform me of Bellamont's visits to the Chedynhal Sanctuary," says the Imperial, placing his boot on the bleeding torso of the stunned vampire. "You should count yourself lucky. I would have left you half dead, had you still remained my surbordinate. It is no longer relevant who was at fault, but you wanted to settle personal grievances. I obliged. I paid my debt, and you paid yours."

Stepping aisde, Lucien offers a hand. The gesture can of course be easily taken advantage of. It is a gamble, but there really isn't that much to lose. Neither of them wills the other dead. Both of them want to move forward.

The look of disbelief turns into that of defensive rage, then into a bemused smile.

"I have been always proud of you, Lucien Lachance. Even when I thought of you in the most negative light," says Vicente, taking the hand. "I feel justified in that sentiment."

For the first time since their reunion, both men allow themselves to relax in each other's company. There is an unspoken understanding between them, just like old times.

"You will drop by the Bravil Sanctuary, then?"

"I believe I will."

* * *

The small chamber looks exactly the same as how Antoinetta left it. The ceiling is still low, adding to the sense of the crowdedness that stems from its measly size. All that is going for the space is its fireplace and the pleasant familiarity that is linked to fond memories.

"I'm afraid that this place will have to do till I can get you a better one," Lucien informs his companion, who has been following him around with a nervous look on her face.

Antoinetta tries hard to smile, but fails miserably. Casting her gaze downwards, she mutters her meek consent. Lucien is her direct superior. She will have to stay where he tells her. Still, she cannot help but feel disappointed. After all that they went through together, is it really that much to ask of him to keep her close to him at least when she is not out on contract?

"Forgive me if I read you wrong. I thought you rather liked this place," Lucien tells his dejected-looking Silencer, smiling inwardly at what might be going through her head.

_Even now you fear my rejection. You have my love, trust and gratitude, all of which you earned yourself. Yet, you still believe I could turn you away without a second thought._

"Besides, this will be only a temporary accommodation. I thought I made that clear to you. I will be much occupied with my duties for a while and do not have time to search for a better shelter. It is not going to be always that way."

Antoinetta swallows hard and composes herself. She does not wish to risk being seen as childish. She is Lucien's Silencer, after all. He will expect her to behave as such. Nevertheless, her disconsolate mind has trouble finding appropriate words.

"It is not that, Speaker. Of course I find this place comfortable. It's just …"

"What then?" Lucien presses, placing his cool palm on her cheek that is hot with awkwardness.

Antoinetta relaxes a little at the gesture, but is still afraid to look up at her Speaker. Afraid that her eyes will betray a longing that she has no control over.

"You think this place too small for two of us?"

Her gaze may remain downward, but Lucien can see a smile creeping over her lips. When she finally returns his stare, her eyes sparkle with the same delight that adorns her face. _It is your fault that I toy with you, Antoinetta. Such a delightful range of expressions you have._

"I thought it too big for one."

Lucien gathers Antoinetta's petite form in his arms, where she belongs and is happy. He realises he has many pressing matters to deal with. He must make a visit to the Bravil Sanctuary shortly. He has already received a list of clients anxiously awaiting a visit from the Dark Brotherhood. Making them wait much longer will not help the reputation of the guild. Then, there is a little matter of finding the Redguard who was initially contacted by Arquen and sealed his fate by committing the second murder. Even with Antoinetta, he needs to discuss her work and the new training regime. Yet,

Lucien only holds her tighter, savouring the feel of Antoinetta's body pressing against his. Even with her armour, he can sense the heat rushing though her veins. Without staring into her eyes, he can sense them glowing with desire.

He knows then that he will not be tending his duties anytime soon. Not before she falls asleep in his arms, fulfilled and contented. He will not deny himself the little pleasure that is Antoinetta Marie.


End file.
